


Oneshot Collection

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AUs, Alien AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Genderbends, Harry Potter AU, M/M, Multi, Other, Pokemon AU, Romance, Trans Characters, from tumblr, one shot series, zombie apocalypse AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 139
Words: 131,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of one-shots, more or less unconnected. Several pairings will be included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AkaFuri

AkaFuri - childhood friends AU  
______

"I’ve decided who I’m going to marry."

Coming from a five year old boy, this was cute, but not entirely worrisome. Akashi Ai smiled at her son, who was currently in a bean bag which almost swallowed his entire body up and reading a book that he’d chosen because it had ‘very few pictures’ and ‘this was what adults would read’. 

"Is that so, Seijūrō?"

"Kōki."

Seijūrō’s father, and consequently Ai’s husband, choked on his tea. “Kōki?”

Seijūrō didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss and turned the page. “Yes.”

"Have you asked him?" Ai asked, reaching forwards to brush her hand through his hair where it was sticking up in a muss. 

Seijūrō frowned as if this had not occurred to him. “I have to ask?” he said slowly. 

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully and turned back to his book. “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

Ai pressed her lips together to keep from laughing and refrained to inform him that ‘telling’ was not the same as ‘asking’. He was too engrossed in the book anyway. 

When she was getting ready for bed that night, having tucked Seijūrō in and kissed his forehead even though he tried to bat her away (“Adults don’t get good-night kisses,” he had insisted), Seicho fixed her with narrowed eyes. “You shouldn’t talk to him as if his feelings for this boy are right.”

Ai removed her necklace and placed it on her bedside table. “He’s five. It’s not as if he’s really in love with Kōki-kun.”

"And if he turns out to be gay?"

Ai huffed and crossed her arms. “He’s still our son.”

"But he won’t have an heir."

"Isn’t it a bit early to be worrying about whether or not he’ll have an heir?"

"And seeing as you can’t have any more children," he continued as if she’d said nothing, " _I_ can’t have another heir.”

Ai flinched and put a hand against her stomach. “Seicho…”

"It’s the truth, Ai. The business has to stay within the family; I don’t want it to go to some distant cousin."

Ai looked down at the ground. “I’m going to sleep downstairs.”

"Don’t be ridiculous… Ai!"

Before she went to settle in the fainting couch in the sitting room, she looked in on Seijūrō again. He was curled up in a tiny ball in one corner of the bed, and like usual he’d managed to get one of the dogs to join him. Being able to give him a kiss when he was still asleep was a comfort; he didn’t wake up to bat her away, even though the dog thumped his tail against the bed and whined to attract her attention.  
——  
The Furihata household was a lot more homely than the Akashi mansion. Seijūrō seemed to have forgotten the conversation yesterday and settled down next to Kōki-kun with his new book and chattered about it as Kōki-kun gazed at him in admiration, during which Ai and Furihata Nanami made some tea. 

"I need to ask you something, Kōki."

Seijūrō’s tone caught Ai’s attention and she stopped mid-sentence and lifted her hand. “Listen,” she whispered to Nanami. 

"Yes, Sei-kun?" Kōki-kun answered. 

"When we’re old enough, will you marry me?"

Nanami pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh, that is so _cute_.”

Kōki-kun looked at Seijūrō thoughtfully. “Kaasan doesn’t let me have kasugai every day. Will you let me?”

"If you never make beni shoga or wakame."

Kōki-kun shook his head. “Of course not.”

Seijūrō put his hand out. “Is it a deal?”

Kōki-kun took it and smiled at him. “We’ll get married.”

Ai watched her son and ‘future son-in-law’ with a smile. “Oh, the innocence of youth,” she said with a laugh to Nanami, who had her hands clasped in front of her as she watched them.


	2. AkaFuri/MidoTaka

Prompt - Agepism (the ethics of love) - AkaFuri and MidoTaka

It was at a jokey remark that Kōki wondered whether the line between friends and something more was disintegrating between him and Seijūrō.

A normal event beforehand; Kōki slipped on some ice and Seijūrō quickly caught him around the waist to keep him on his feet. Takao had been gingerly walking next to him, clinging onto Midorima’s arm with all the strength of an octopus and said, “When’s the wedding, guys?”

Midorima had sighed in annoyance and promptly pushed him so he fell to the ground (at which point karma took effect and Takao managed to drag Midorima down with him; a feat with which Kōki was impressed). Seijūrō had stepped back from Kōki as if he’d been burnt and Kōki laughed in embarrassment. “Are you already drunk, Kazunari?” Seijūrō said.

Takao grinned from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “I may have had a little tiny something.” At Kōki and Seijūrō’s exasperated looks he crossed his arms. “Tiny, I tell you. Just finishing a bottle.”

"You have a problem, Kazu," Midorima said, trying to loosen Takao’s grasp on his arm.

"Don’t be silly, Shin-chan," he answered, kissing him on the cheek before bounding up to his feet. "Come on, not much further."

The remark had been forgotten by Takao but the rest of the way to the pub Kōki puzzled over it. He loved Seijūrō, obviously, but being in love with him was an entirely different matter.

He had hoped his crush on Seijūrō had been over by the time he was eighteen, but right now all he could think of was how being in the snow made the atmosphere _really_ romantic, and of how he kind of wished that he and Seijūrō were alone.

"You’re not bothered by what the idiot said, right?" Seijūrō said over his shoulder when he saw Kōki’s expression.

Kōki smiled and shook his head. “Of course not.”

"Kazu, you dim-witted imbecile!" Midorima shouted from in front of them. Kōki and Seijūrō watched in amusement at the Takao and Midorima pile which had once again occurred.

"I’m not dim-witted, Shin-chan. Just a bit drunk."

"Seriously, guys, when’s _your_ wedding?” Kōki retorted.

Midorima blushed and Takao smiled at him fondly. “Hopefully soon. I’m wearing him down.”

Kōki wasn’t really sure how to respond to _this_ little snippet of information.

"You’re drunk, Takao," Midorima said gruffly, ignoring Takao as he put his chin on Midorima’s shoulder and gazed up at him in adoration. "You’re going to be ill tomorrow."

"You’ll take care of me if I am Shin-chan?"

Midorima sighed. “I have no choice, do I?” He pushed Takao away again and got to his feet.

"Those two are ridiculous," Seijūrō said. Kōki agreed, but didn’t say anything. Truth be told, he was a bit jealous at the ease of their relationship.

Any hope of the evening being otherwise uneventful were dashed when Takao came to their table with several shots and a terrifyingly mischievous look in his eye.

Kōki, unable to deny his friends anything, took everything that Takao offered which meant that he was quite jovial and witty after a couple of hours. Seijūrō was always the type to become more quiet the more he drank, so he contented himself with watching Kōki’s exaggerated movements and unguarded expressions.

"Can I ask you something, Akashi?" Midorima suddenly asked half-way through the evening.

"Hmm?"

"When we were in middle school were you in a relationship with Nijimura-san?"

Seijūrō froze and Kōki choked on his drink. “Shintaro?”

"I’m just wondering."

At which Seijūrō frowned into his glass. “A relationship of sorts. Did the others know?”

Takao and Kōki gaped at him as Midorima shrugged. “Just wondering,” he repeated.

"Wait, of _sorts_?” Kōki said.

"Is it a relationship if it’s just sex?" Seijūrō mused. Kōki thankfully wasn’t drinking anything so he didn’t almost choke to death again.

"You were in _middle school_.”

"Is that not normal?" Seijūrō asked.

"Not really, Akashi," Midorima said.

So Seijūrō was gay? That made things so much more complicated. Kōki chewed on a wedge of lemon as he fiddled with the zip on his jacket. Or at least, gay for those who were good at basketball, which Kōki wasn’t sure he could lay claim to.

"Well that gives me an idea," Takao lifted his knees up and sat back on his haunches. "Every one has to admit to something they’ve never admitted to before."

"I don’t know whether that’s a good idea," Kōki said with an embarrassed smile.

"No, no, of course it is." He turned to Midorima. "First time you fell for me. Go."

Despite himself, Kōki was intrigued.

"You’re the only one who wants to play this game, Kazu."

"No, I’m interested too," Seijūrō added. "I don’t want to be the only one to admit to something."

"I really don’t—"

"Oh, go on, Shin-chan," Kōki added, though he blanched at the glare Midorima sent him.

"Fine. The first time I saw you."

"The first time? That doesn’t make any sense, Shin-chan. That was at a game my school played against Tei—" his eyes widened when Midorima looked at him. "Really?"

Midorima glared at the table but nodded.

"Shin-chan!" Takao pounced on him and covered his face with kisses.

"Get off me, Takao," Midorima said, looking especially relieved (which would have offended Kōki had he been in Takao’s position) when Takao settled to just holding onto his hand.

"Seriously, guys," Kōki exclaimed. Seijūrō muttered something about the inappropriateness of PDAs.

"I’m thinking a spring wedding," Takao said cheerily, turning back to the other side of the table.

"Kazu—"

"Anyway!" Takao interrupted Midorima. "Admit something, Kou-chan."

Had Kōki not been so spineless when it came to friends and refused the drinks, had he never gone to Seirin and somehow become close to these bunch of idiots, had he never been  _born_ , he would not be in this situation. The glance he shot to Seijūrō revealed nothing of what he was feeling, he was sitting as regally as ever with a casual expression.

"Uh…" he started.

Takao smiled encouragingly. “Go on, Kou-chan.”

"Well, this is about you, Sei."

"It is?" He didn’t sound surprised.

"Uh, well…" He looked up to the ceiling and grimaced, wishing for any proverbial ‘trapdoor in the floor’ to open. "When we first met… I had a crush on you."

"Is that so?" His voice didn’t betray any emotions so Kōki shot him a sideways glance. He was pressing his lips together and his shoulders were almost shaking from trying not to laugh.

"See, this is why I never wanted to say anything. You’re laughing at me."

Forget the trapdoor. He wished a gunman would come in and shoot Seijūrō down. With Takao for good measure.

"No, of course not. Kazunari," he turned to Takao, who was watching with wide eyes. "May I take your turn?" He took the odd shrugging-like gesture as assent. "Come closer, Kōki."

"No."

"Fine," he said, sounding amused as he instead slid closer. Kōki sent a desperate look to Takao, who was watching the entire thing like someone watching a pack of lions take down gazelle. Except with more sadistic glee. "I’ll admit something." He was uncomfortably close now, and caught Kōki’s chin to turn his head and kiss him.

At which point Kōki forgot that Midorima and Takao were on the other side of the table watching, and with how busy the pub was tonight probably a few other pairs of curious eyes. He reached up to tighten his arms around Seijūrō’s neck (probably narrowly avoiding the glasses on the table) and kissed him back with a fervour that could only be attributed to the fact that he was completely _drunk_ and absolutely -  _absolutely_ \- could not be attributed to how attractive he’d found Seijūrō from the beginning. Hopefully neither of them would remember this tomorrow; it would make living together mightily awkward.

Although the precise way Seijūrō was kissing him back was making him wonder whether he’d drank all that much. Sure, he had been quiet, but Kōki couldn’t remember him ordering anything after the first round.

That musing went right out of his head when Seijūrō bit at his lower lip at the same time as stroking up the inside of his thigh. Kōki moaned ( _really_ embarrassing; thank goodness the acoustics were quite bad and relatively loud in their corner) and pressed into his hand.

"Wow, they’re really going at it," Takao said.

Kōki jumped back and hit his head on the wall in his haste. Seijūrō cocked his head and smirked.

"Yeah, you guys are hypocrites. _Our_ PDA was way more family-friendly than that,” Takao flicked his fingers towards them and picked up his glass.


	3. MidoTaka

Takaoxfem!Midorima

 

\----

"So why don’t we go out tonight, Shin-chan?"

Kazunari had lost count of how many times he’d asked her out, but part of the fun of every day was when she was packing her bag meticulously and he had shoved everything into his own bag was her responses.

Especially when her cheeks darkened slightly and she fixed her glasses to give herself a few seconds before sighing at him. “I’m too busy seeing anyone else.”

Kazunari clutched his heart in mock-pain. “Shin-chan, you wound me.”

"Takao, stop harassing me."

"I’m not _harassing_ …” he trailed off when Shin-chan glared at him. “Okay, maybe a little bit. But what girl doesn’t like a bit of adulation?”

"I’m surprised you know what that word means." She started to stalk out of the room but stopped in the doorway. "I would never go out with such a misogynistic asshole."

“ _Shin_ -chan.”


	4. NijiAka

NijiAka - Temptation

\----

Shūzō should have noticed that Seijūrō was starting to look at him with that predatorial smile. He had moved his homework out of the way and was cushioning his head on his arms as he watched Shūzō before reaching forward and touching his hand. “You want to take a break?”

"I can’t."

From the corner of his eye he saw Seijūrō frown at him. “Shūzō.”

"Sei, I have to work." But Seijūrō ignored his words and continued tracing shapes over his hand. "Sei, stop it."

But, naturally, his boyfriend - stupid kouhai - knew exactly how to get him to react. He settled back against his chair and put the end of his pencil between his teeth whilst stretching his leg out to brush Shūzō’s thigh, inching his foot up slowly as Shūzō yelped and pushed it away.

Seijūrō cocked his head to the side and smiled innocently. “We’re not all fucking geniuses, Seijūrō.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that word, because Seijūrō’s eyes flashed in amusement and he said, “well, you could be fucking a genius.”

"Sei!"

Which only prompted him to move around the table to settle in Shūzō’s lap and start kissing his neck. “What? My father’s away for the night.”

But ignoring Seijūrō when he was in this mood was impossible and despite himself (and his future admission to university) he was starting to pull him closer. Only half-reluctantly, Shūzō shut his textbook. “Five minutes,” he said.

"Of course," Seijūrō answered, pulling his head down to kiss him.


	5. AkaFuri

**Of Inhibitions Lost and French Maid’s Uniforms (AkaFuri)**

 

The first time comprised of Kōki with his two friends (the benchwarmers from Seirin) taking a break from swimming and sitting on the side. Kōki was facing Seijūrō so he got a good look at that bright smile of his (which he had whenever he wasn’t with Seijūrō) and his hair pushed back and water dripping down his body. He really did have nice muscles; definitely there but lean (God forbid he had Eikichi’s build; Seijūrō had enough of that from just the man himself), similar to his own build, but slightly smaller.

"Akashi-kun, you’re drooling."

He didn’t really want to turn away from the frankly delicious sight in front of him, but Tetsuya’s comment merited a glare.

He glared.

"Fantasising about Furihata-kun again?"

Tetsuya really was fearless. “Of course not. I wouldn’t fantasise over a commoner.”

Ryouta, who was on the other side of Tetsuya (under several layers of sun cream and a parasol) looked around Tetsuya. “Akashicchi has a crush?”

Tetsuya’s expression barely changed more than a slight tilt at the corner of his lips, but it still irked Seijūrō. “Certainly not,” he said, sitting back, closing his eyes and making a mental note to invest in a pair of sunglasses.  
——-  
The second time was distressingly soon after a particular dream which had involved Kōki, a French maid’s uniform and a feather duster (and several acts which must have resulted in rope burns but Seijūrō didn’t want to think about that) but he couldn’t have cancelled an hour before they were due, so he firmly affixed his sunglasses and waited for the others to show up.

Kōki and Reo arriving first - together - was a pain, especially when Reo had his arm around Kōki’s shoulders and was referring to him as ‘Kou-chan’.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses, Sei-chan?" he chirped happily. Kōki edged away slowly.

"Yes, Akashi-kun, why are you wearing sunglasses?" Tetsuya had popped up next to Seijūrō and frowned innocently.

"My eyes are more sensitive to the light."

"You weren’t bothered by it last week," he continued. Reo lost interest and wandered over to the pool.

"I swear, Tetsuya. I will kill you."

Seijūrō wondered whether having a crush on Kōki had softened him, because Tetsuya merely snorted and turned to settle in his usual chair.  
——-  
Seijūrō really thought he should have learnt by the third time, but again, here they all were and Kōki was sitting on the side of the pool as Seijūrō stared at him.

"Even with the sunglasses I can tell that you’re staring at him."

"I’m not staring at him."

"You’re _blushing_ , Akashi-kun,” Tetsuya said. Kagami leant forward to shoot a nervous glance at him.

"It’s warm."

"You should just ask him out."

"I would, but _someone_ told him my family are yakuza bosses.”

Tetsuya’s expression didn’t change.

"I knew it was you."

He crossed his arms and settled back, still watching Kōki where he was propping himself up with his elbows in a way that made the muscles in his shoulders flex.

"He should wear less clothes more often." He didn’t realise that he’d talked out loud until Kagami gave him an utterly horrified look, Ryouta choked on his drink and Tetsuya looked at him in mild disbelief.

He ignored them and instead listened to the trills of a Chopin Mazurka that Shintaro was playing inside.

It was a couple of hours later that Kawahara - or at least Seijūrō thought it was Kawahara - came up to Tetsuya and hissed to him; “Is it just me or does Akashi have a thing for Furi?”

"Not at all. He’s just having vivid sexual fantasies about him involving French maid uniforms—"

"Tetsuya!" He’d known it was a mistake the moment he’d told him, but he still hadn’t expected that Tetsuya would announce it like that.

Kawahara yelped. “I thought he was asleep! He hasn’t moved in two hours!” he said.

"He’s too busy staring at Furihata-kun."

"One more word and I’ll drown you, Tetsuya." Kagami stared resolutely forward, blushing bright red and Ryouta wailed something about Kurokocchi being too sweet to drown.

"You should just ask him," Kawahara said with a shrug.

Seijūrō sat up and took the sunglasses off. “Ask him?”

Kawahara nodded. Seijūrō looked questioningly at Tetsuya, who merely sighed and leant his head back.

"I told him I was mistaken about your family being yakuza bosses."

Logically, it was the best thing to do, so he turned to Kōki, who was, in fact, looking at him. When their eyes met he smiled slightly, blushed and ducked his head (which only made him remember the dream, in which he’d been ducking his head and blushing for an entirely different reason).

"Don’t have that look on your face, Akashicchi. You’ll scare him." Even Ryouta looked scared actually. "You look as if you’re going to kidnap him."

"That’ll come later," Seijūrō said lightly. Along with persuading him to try wearing a French maid’s uniform. Seijūrō made a mental note to pick one up as he joined a blushing Kōki nearer the pool.


	6. NijiAka

 

**The (Unwanted) Imprint - crack!ishNijiAka**

Shūzō’d had several interesting occurrences happen when he went to his boyfriend’s house, including but not limited to finding the world’s richest man in the drawing room waiting for a meeting, several Rembrandts and Picassos placed in the corner of a room and not to mention the priceless antiques scattered _everywhere_ , but this had to be the strangest.

Akashi was sitting _seiza_ , using traditional implements to do some calligraphy—which wasn’t odd in itself—but he was also saying; “No, that’s my tea. You don’t see me drinking your water.” and pushing a little duckling away from his tea. “You’ll burn yourself.”

"What?" Shūzō said. His boyfriend looked up and smiled in greeting.

"Afternoon," he said politely.

"What’s with the bird?"

"Oh," he said, looking down at the duckling and sighing when he saw its beak was stuck in his tea. "It appears she’s imprinted on me."

Oh, well. That was kind of… cute. Especially when made a little quack and waddled closer to Akashi. Akashi sighed and smoothed its feathers with his finger. “Why don’t you come closer?” he asked, almost smiling _fondly_ when the duckling batted his hand with its head.

"Uh…" Shūzō waved his hand. "I… I just… I’m okay here, but birds aren’t really my forte."

Akashi placed the brush in the ink and cupped his hands on the table, letting the duckling hop onto them. “You’re scared of birds?”

Shūzō crossed his arms awkwardly. “Of course not.” But from Akashi’s raised eyebrows and smirk, it was rather obvious that he saw right through him.

"Of course." He placed the bird back on the table and joined Shūzō at the other end of the room to kiss him (as the duckling quacked and walked in circles). "You know I’ll have to take her with us."

"Really?" Shūzō said. "We don’t have to be out for that long."

"She’s only a baby. She needs to be fed a lot." He leaned his head against Shūzō’s chest and watched the duck as it continued to quack and look over the side of the table to determine how high up it was. "No, don’t jump off. You’ll hurt yourself," Akashi said, hurrying over to it.

The fact that this was Akashi Seijūrō, infallible, fearless and fear _some_ captain of the Generation of Miracles was shocking when, right now, he was crooning at a yellow fluffy duckling and trying to stop it from hurting itself and picking it up gently so it nestled in his hands. “She’ll probably fall  asleep soon anyway,” he said, continuing their conversation as he came closer.

Shūzō twitched and darted backwards. “Please, no closer.” He held up his hands and could _swear_ the duckling gave him a triumphant look. Of course he couldn’t be sure; it was impossible to see what a bird was thinking. He shuddered as Akashi tried to  step forward again and frowned when Akashi hid a smile behind his hand. “It’s not my fault,” he insisted. “It’s not like a dog or a cat. You can never tell what it’s thinking.”

"So, what? You’re going to stay outside of a five metre radius of us during our date?" He brought the duck closer to his face so it batted his cheek.

Even if ducks were creepy as hell, man was that cute.  
—-  
Or, at least, it was cute until they were out.

He hadn’t considered that the joint power of Akashi and a fluffy duckling would immediately attract any girl from eleven to eighteen years old, and as Akashi was unbearably polite he answered all their questions and let them pat the duck on the head and make various squealing noises when it cheeped or nestled up to Akashi. By the end of it, Shūzō was glaring holes into the bird’s—and any girl’s— head and hoping that it would drop dead of some inexplicable illness or shock.

It was even worse when a _very_ pretty girl of about sixteen sidled closer to Akashi and fluttered her eyelashes as she brushed her hand down his arm. At this point the duck gave him an even more smug look than usual and Shūzō forced his fear down to join Akashi.

The smile Akashi gave him was painfully innocent and he let Shūzō put an arm around his waist and kiss his forehead (which he usually protested against when they were in public). The girl took her hand away as if she’d been burnt, made her excuses and left.

Shūzō frowned down at Akashi. “Did you do that on purpose?”

"Whatever are you talking about, Nijimura-san?"

The duck laughed and Shūzō glared at it.

Or, at least, the quack sounded an awful lot like laughter.  
—-  
If he’d expected it to be any better when they got back, he’d be severely wrong.

For one, if the duck had any say in the matter, it wouldn’t get further away than half a meter from Akashi, and if it could would hop onto his lap. Akashi managed to persuade it to stay on the arm of the sofa before kissing Shūzō in a way that made him light-headed and slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Until Shūzō opened his eyes and saw that the duck had hopped onto the seat of the sofa and was staring at them intently. He swore and jumped back, dumping Akashi on the floor. “What—” Akashi broke off when the duckling hopped onto his shoulder. “Okay, I’ll put her somewhere else,” he said.

Shūzō considered how long ducks lived for.

"Now, mummy and daddy need some time alone," Akashi said to the duckling, placing it into one of the dog’s cages. Shūzō sighed and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand as he considered which _he_ was. "Oh!" he suddenly said in surprise. He shot a look over his shoulder. "She’s been sick."

What.

"I’m going to have to take care of her."

Of course.

And when Akashi left the room to gather whatever the bird needed, he glared at it.

It looked back at him in a smug manner.

Being cockblocked by a bird; that was a first. They were sneakier than he thought.


	7. AkaFuri

**AkaFuri**

If there was one thing that Kōki was sure about himself it was that he was dependent. Straight-forward, steady, dependent and had a particular hatred for change. Maybe it was routed in fear, maybe just his normal upbringing, but he didn’t go out to get drunk or take drugs. The wildest he got was when he was gaming with his friends and swore at them.

He definitely did _not_ end up pressed up against a tree making out with Akashi Seijūrō.

Of course not, he was Furihata Kōki, a completely plain, normal guy with no outstanding talents. No one that someone as extraordinary as Akashi would be interested in.

(Though his moans would beg to differ, and so would the way he would pull Kōki closer only to push him harder against the rough bark of the tree. Kōki was reminded every time of how Akashi was a lot stronger than he looked, and _why_ did that make him feel light-headed and hot all over at the same time.)

No, he certainly didn’t. Right now, where he _should_ be was with Kawahara and Fukuda, going around town to find a manga or a computer game or CD of western music to distract him from his entirely normal life at weekends. Maybe at home babysitting and getting fondly irritated with his sister as his parents worked often at weekends.

But no, instead Kawahara and Fukuda had cancelled on him, something about needing to help out at home and at work. Kōki had wandered around aimlessly, until he’d bumped – _literally_ – into Akashi.

And _somehow_ , in a chain of events which didn’t entirely make sense to Kōki and couldn’t at the moment – not when Akashi was skilfully drifting his hands lower to dip his thumb slightly in his waistband, the other in his back pocket and pulling him even closer – they had ended up like _this_.

Akashi’s lips left his, and he almost protested, until he was biting and sucking just below his jaw – probably hard enough to leave marks but he couldn’t care right now. His hair slipped through Kōki’s fingers like silk as he pulled Akashi closer. “Don’t stop,” he said, his voice weak and soft.

Akashi whispered his name in response, muffled against his neck. Kōki opened his eyes, the sunlight coming through the leaves in dapples, was like in a dream. Colours seemed more vibrant than he had ever seen them before.

But then he saw Kuroko and Kagami walking down the path, Kuroko reading a book and Kagami frowning at it over his shoulder, and he gasped before roughly pushing Akashi away from him. He made a startled sound himself as he fell into a bush and promptly disappeared into the growth. Kuroko greeted Kōki with a smile and frowned at the bush, which was currently shaking slightly.

“What are you doing, Furihata?” Kagami said. “You’re bright red.”

Kuroko kept on frowning at the bush and Furihata stepped in his line of sight. “I wasn’t doing anyone – anything! I said ‘anything’!” Kuroko put his head to one side at the slip and Kōki could swear that soft laughter was coming from the bush behind him. He laughed too – only nervously – and forced a smile. “Talk about a Freudian slip,” he said, hoping they didn’t notice the laughter from the bush.

“Indeed,” Kuroko said. He started walking away, but not before calling behind his shoulder; “You can get out of that bush now, Akashi-kun.”

Kagami looked at him with wide eyes when he gracefully got out of the bush, straightened his clothes, and ruffled at his hair until it was lying perfectly. He blushed bright red himself when he put the pieces together and Kōki kept his eyes on the leaves of the tree. “Uh… let’s go, Kuroko.” He took Kuroko’s arm and led him forwards.

Akashi leaned against the tree trunk and looked at Kōki with a heated expression. “That’s the second time I’ve ended up on the floor today because of you.” Kōki shifted uncomfortably before letting Akashi pull him back. “I think you owe me,” he added before recapturing Kōki’s lips.


	8. MidoTaka

 

**MidoTaka**

 

**\-----**

Kazunari was sleeping on the sofa when Shintaro finally made it back from a twenty hour shift at the hospital. This happened often, and Shintaro sighed at the sight, crossing his arms. “Wake up, Kazunari.”

Naturally, he didn’t. So Shintaro shook his shoulder roughly until he sleepily frowned at him and then smiled sappily. “You’re back,” he mumbled.

"Are you coming up to bed?"

"If you carry me."

"Kazunari, I just did a twenty hour shift." During which Kazunari curled up and promptly fell asleep again. "Kazunari…"

Every fucking time.

After contemplating leaving him downstairs or maybe throwing him outside, he bent down and put his arms around Kazunari to lift him up. He gave a small sigh, burrowed his face into Shintaro’s neck and tightened his arms and legs around him. “I’ll kill you tomorrow,” he said, but he still dropped a kiss on Kazunari’s hair.

"Okay."

Shintaro sighed as he made his way upstairs, Kazunari clinging to him and kissing his neck.

"No, really, I’m going to kill you." He dropped Kazunari onto the bed, and only became more exasperated when Kazunari grinned and dragged him down on top of him.


	9. AkaFuri

**Of Broken Elevators and Stolen Kisses (AkaFuri)**

 

**\----**

If Kōki had been told that this training camp would be a joint one with Rakuzan there were many things he would have done to get out of it. He was pretty imaginative; he could have faked broken bones, deaths in the family, a weekend in Vegas, having a sex change and moving to the Arctic…  _so_ many options. To be sure, he probably would have broken his own  bones just to get out of being in the same vicinity as Akashi Seijūrō for any length of time. But Riko had left the fact that she’d been in contact with Rakuzan’s coach since the Winter Cup out of any meetings, and when they’d hopped out of the coach (somehow Kōki had ended up carrying a massive load of bags; not entirely sure how that came about) and half of Rakuzan were getting out of their own coach. A few had turned round when Kōki dropped all the bags and one of the starters—Hayama—had burst out laughing.

And that was the first time since the game that Kōki saw Akashi. Not the best circumstance; he hit Hayama’s arm with the back of his hand and glared at him, and Hayama blanched. “Uh… sorry.”

Reo had given him a smug look, and Akashi had looked straight at Kōki, which had been the cause of many nightmares since. He’d seemed slightly taken-aback when Kōki squeaked with fear and darted behind Kagami and Kuroko. “Did you know?” he’d hissed to the two of them. Kagami shook his head and Kuroko informed them that he did in fact know.

Honestly; what was the point of friends when they didn’t have your back?

If he hadn’t come; if an emergency had come up at home or perhaps an emergency  _at_ the actual  camp, then he wouldn’t have ended up in the same elevator as Akashi. The same broken-down elevator as Akashi.

But let’s take a few steps back. It was the third day of the week-long training camp when Kōki woke up as usual. Read: Riko barging into the room that he was sharing with Fukuda and Kawahara and informing them  _really_ loudly that they were to do three laps around the track before they were allowed to have breakfast. Kawahara had fallen off his bed in shock and Fukuda had yelped as Kōki whimpered and hid under his duvet. Riko had raised her eyebrows at him, said, “What a bunch of wimps,” and left.

"We’re not wimps, right?" Kawahara had asked. Fukuda shrugged and Kōki glared at the door. When they were ready and left the room Akashi was standing in the doorway next to theirs, his hair slightly mussed and frowning.

"Your coach makes a racket," he said accusatorially. Kōki had shot a look to Fukuda and Kawahara and bolted.

If he had thought that Riko was scary enough on her own, he hadn’t thought about the joint power of Riko, Rakuzan’s coach and Akashi in coming up with a generalised training programme. It was gruelling, and only made up the morning session. The afternoon was for individual skill-building (which meant that Kōki had a mass of work to do; his only job so far had been screening and slowing down the game anyway). Kōki was exhausted when he finished and stumbled into the elevator. If he’d noticed that Akashi was already in it, he would have waited for the next one, taken the stairs or pretended that he’d forgotten how elevators worked. But instead, the doors closed and when Kōki went to press the button to his floor he noticed it was already alight. When he stepped back he noticed Akashi in the corner.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Akashi-san!" he yelped, backing away and putting his arms in front of his face. _Please don’t hit me please don’t hit me_ ran through his head. Encroaching in his private space would certainly make Akashi angry; he had no doubt of that.

"What are you apologising for?"

He soundly darkly amused and Kōki imagined him taking a knife out of his bag and twirling it round his fingers.

"Uh…" He lowered his arms and glanced at Akashi, who  _wasn’t_ twirling a knife around his fingers. And didn’t even have a bag. “Nuh… nothing.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up, but he froze when the elevator shuddered to a halt and the lights flickered out.

"Wh—what’s happening?" Kōki’s voice sounded a lot higher than usual, and he reached out to grab onto the wall.

"I think we’ve broken down." Akashi’s voice, by contrast, was a lot more collected.

_How_ he could remain so, Kōki had no idea. All he could think of was the horror stories he’d heard about the cable breaking and the elevator falling fourteen floors and smashing at the bottom, and how it was _really_ dark and, _fuck_ , were the walls closing in even more? Was the elevator sealed? How much air did they have? Would his last thoughts be how terrified he was?

He hadn’t realised that he was trembling hard enough that Akashi could feel it and had sunk to the floor and curled up into the foetal position until a jacket dropped over his shoulders and Akashi said, “It’s alright; don’t panic. These things happen.”

Kōki shook in response, until Akashi opened his phone and gave them a little light, enough to see that the walls weren’t closing in, and Kōki got the objectivity to realise that the elevator was most likely not sealed and he and Akashi would have enough oxygen to survive by.

When he stopped shaking, Akashi—apparently the cool head in a crisis—used the emergency phone and explained the situation. Kōki started shivering again when he heard the phrases  _”both teams are out”…”could be a couple of hours_ ”, although he tried to remain calm when Akashi informed him.

"Will your phone last that long?" Kōki asked.

"It’s almost dead," Seijūrō admitted. "I was going upstairs to charge it. Are you afraid of the dark?"

"N-no! Of course not!" Because an almost-grown man being scared of the dark was _ridiculous_. Worried, maybe that would be okay, but he couldn’t ever expect to get a girlfriend he couldn’t handle being in the dark.

Akashi sighed. “It’s fine.”

Kōki burrowed deeper into the jacket and took a deep breath. Wow, the jacket smelt _really_ good; like expensive cologne and some sort of spice—cinnamon, maybe? A part of him wondered whether the owner smelt the same… until he blushed a deep red. What was he _thinking_?

"Maybe a little bit."

Akashi smiled slightly before pressing his lips together to try and hide it.

"Please don’t laugh at me," Kōki said in a small voice.

"I’m not."

The phone died out then and Kōki gasped before shutting his eyes tight and shivering again, until strong, but small arms pulled him against a warm chest. “It’s okay,” Akashi said softly, brushing his fingers through his hair comfortingly. “You’re going to be fine.”

He did smell like the jacket, and Kōki’s gasped breaths slowed until he was breathing normally. Keeping his eyes closed, he focused instead on Akashi’s steady heartbeat against his cheek.

This was a surprise, and he wondered whether all the ‘emperor’ stuff was just a front. He vaguely remembered Kuroko’s story about what happened at Teikō, and particularly about what he’d referred to as… the first Akashi, was it? Maybe this was him. He was talking softly, not really saying anything but the vibrations in his chest was almost lulling him into a state of complete relaxation.

Until he felt lips press against his forehead and his eyes flew open.

He was terrified again. The tension went right back into his shoulders and he trembled as Akashi kissed his forehead again and his fingers drifted across his neck.

Oh gosh, was he being too trusting? Maybe he was trying to distract him before strangling him?

"Uh… Akashi—" He broke off and froze when, after sitting up, Akashi leaned forwards to kiss him on his mouth.

"I’m distracting you from the dark."

"Mmph… Akashi-san…" He pushed Akashi away and tried to gather any courage he had left when his gold eye gleamed slightly in the darkness.

"What, have you never kissed anyone before?"

"Of course I have!" Kōki spluttered in response. No need to say that it was at a party—the only time he’d ever gotten drunk—and he’d just made out with the closest person to him. Who happened to be Fukuda. No, he tried to forget that.

"So what’s the problem?" He started leaning in again and Kōki put his hand on his mouth to stop him.

"A few things," he said weakly. Akashi touched his middle finger with the tip of his tongue and caught his hand to hold it still as Kōki tried to pull away. His lips moved to his wrist, and, when sucking at the skin above his pulse made Kōki whimper softly and drop his head back he grinned. "Fine," Kōki muttered. Akashi kissed him again.

What was he supposed to do anyway? He _was_ absolute.   
——-  
 ** _Omake_**

Kōki did his best to put the happenings in the elevator behind him as they left, Akashi looking like some kind of model with wind blown hair, first few buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up as he tossed his jacket over his shoulder casually. Kōki, meanwhile, took an entire fifteen minutes trying to stop hyperventilating, and when he made his way to his room Fukuda took one look at him, burst out laughing and said that he looked like he’d just seen a ghost and ran backwards through a bush to get away from it. Kawahara had been slightly more sympathetic, patting his shoulder and offering to get him a glass of water or tea.

"I was trapped in the elevator for two hours," he finally explained.

"Alone?" Kawahara said. Fukuda threw a blanket at him.

"That would have been preferable," he said quietly. "Akashi was there too."

"And you survived!" Fukuda said proudly.

That would be all he would say. He couldn’t tell them _everything_ that had transpired in the elevator; it wasn’t as if anything else would happen between them.

It was just something to pass the time, Kōki thought as he fell asleep. Yeah. That’s all.

The next morning they were allowed to go straight to breakfast, to Kōki’s relief. The three of them sat in the corner of Seirin’s tables and Kōki’s back was to the door, so he didn’t see when Akashi entered.

Well, until he walked straight up to their table and put his hand on Kōki’s shoulder. Kōki jumped (and almost screamed, but managed to keep quiet) and turned, just in time to hear Akashi say, “Good morning, beautiful,” (what, _him_?) and tilt his chin up to kiss him.

The entire dining hall was staring at them as Akashi pulled away and joined the rest of his team. Even Izuki didn’t crack a pun (in fact, the first one to speak was Reo, saying loudly, “Sei-chan, your boyfriend’s adorable!” and making him want to hide under the table). Kawahara and Fukuda were staring openly at the two of them with their mouths open.

"Have you finished with your plates? I’ll take them to the kitchen," Kōki said quickly, stacking the three plates up.

"Furi, what _exactly_ happened in that elevator yesterday?”

"Yeah, now that I think about it, you don’t get that hairstyle sitting up."

Kōki wasn’t sure who had spoken when (he could hardly hear anything with the blood rushing through his ears and drowning everything out) but looked at both of them as innocently as he could manage. “Nothing! Nothing at all!”

Fukuda raised an eyebrow. “See, that red he’s blushing right now, _that’s_ what I want to paint my bedroom,” he said to Kawahara, pointing at Kōki.

"Oh, yeah, that’ll be a nice colour," Kawahara chipped in.

It was a bloody miracle that he didn’t faint from embarrassment right then and there.


	10. AkaFuri

**Floccinaucinihilipilification – estimation that something is worthless (Akafuri)**

**\----**

 

Seijūrō made it clear to Kōki from the beginning that it was a game to him, nothing more (he was never the type to _want_ to hurt someone). Every time he mentioned it, Kōki would merely smile slightly and nod, saying that he knew it all. And, somehow, Seijūrō found himself coming back again and again, even if he knew any kind of relationship was worthless and impossible and couldn’t change anything even if he _wanted_ it to change.

But then there were some moments when the lines were blurring a little and he didn’t have to think and force himself to show gentle affection. When Kōki shivered if they were out it became second nature to take off his own jacket and drape it over his shoulders (sometimes keeping his hands on Kōki’s arms just a little bit longer than necessary – to make sure it wouldn’t fall off, he told himself), and when he kissed Kōki it wasn’t just as a way of manipulation. Kōki’s head on his shoulder if he ever fell asleep on the sofa was something that he enjoyed, even if his hair would tickle Seijūrō’s neck and the fact that Kōki wouldn’t wake up even if the world was ending meant that he would have to carry him up to bed.

The lines were becoming _too_ blurred, and that night, whilst Kōki chattered as Seijūrō made dinner, he said, as casually as he could manage, “You know this is a game for me, right? Relationships are pointless.”

Kōki smiled. “I know, Sei. Do you want some help with that?” He got up from his seat.

“I just wanted to make sure. My father’s going on at me about arranged marriages.”

Kōki looked at him thoughtfully before batting him out of the way so he could access the saucepan. “There’s nothing that says we can’t still be friends, right? Who knows, maybe I’ll even get on with your wife.” He laughed and shot an amused look at Seijūrō over his shoulder, who was raising an eyebrow sardonically. “Okay, maybe not quite. Here, taste this.”

Seijūrō couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that Kōki hadn’t fulfilled what he’d hoped, though _what_ he hoped evaded him. So he stayed back slightly (Kōki was a better chef anyway) and watched him bustle about the kitchen.

Kōki’s apartment felt strangely like home in a way the Akashi manor never had, and he had to remind himself that this was only a game, he was only playing _against_ Kōki in this pitiful ‘relationship’ and had only to win before he could leave and forget. If only he could figure out what and where the finish line was and how he could reach it first.

“So who are the options, then? Daughters of your father’s business partners?”

“Not necessarily. Anyone of a good social standing will do.”

Kōki put two plates on the table and sat down. “So you have a good chance of marrying for love if that’s the only qualification.”

Seijūrō was surprised at how bleak his laugh sounded. “Haven’t I taught you anything, Kōki? Love doesn’t exist.”

Kōki gave a small, seemingly all-knowing smile and bowed his head. “Of course, Seijūrō.” And this, again, left Seijūrō with a sort of longing that he couldn’t quite place.

He accepted, maybe all too easily, when Kōki asked him to stay the night (the ease of which _ought_ to have persuaded him to leave). But there was something so comforting in feeling Kōki so near to him and always tugging him closer to kiss him and leave marks on his skin which would last longer in his mind than their visible effects. And he found he didn’t want to leave afterwards as Kōki’s fingers played along his spine and the languid silence settled over them.

“You know what…” Seijūrō pulled back and propped himself up on his elbow. “This is just a game for me.” But it felt more now like he was trying to convince himself.

Kōki sighed and brushed his fingers along Seijūrō’s cheek and down his neck before cupping it. “Maybe for you.” But the softened way he said it… Seijūrō knew he didn’t believe it. He let Kōki draw him back into another kiss.

And as counter-intuitive as Seijūrō found it, maybe it _wasn’t_ a petty game anymore.


	11. NijiAkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make my ot3 sail at least a bit? (These were written as more of an experiment than anything else so please forgive the shittiness.)

(1)

The fact that even though it was Seijūrō’s idea to go to the cinema and he was the one who was bailing out did irritate Kōki a bit. Maybe it was idiotic; it wasn’t like he could control falling ill, but it was a horror movie and he’d tried to hide his nervous tendencies from Shūzō.

"Maybe we should cancel, then?" he’d said. "You were the one who wanted to watch it anyway."

"I want to."

Seijūrō smirked at him at Shūzō’s words. “Uh… okay,” he said.

And, yes, the movie was terrifying. Within the opening credits three people were torn apart and one person’s head turned all the way round—he would  _never_ get that image out of his head—and by that he gave up on the pretence and hid his face in Shūzō’s arm and whimpered (anyone  _normal_ would be terrified by this). Shūzō brushed his hair back. “You haven’t caught what Seijūrō has, right?”

He shook his head. “I’m not good with horror.”

Shūzō’s shoulders shook from laughter and Kōki looked up to glare at him. “I’m sorry.”

There was a scream and Kōki whimpered again, burying his face in Shūzō’s shoulder.

"Do you want to leave?" He was still laughing.

"No, no, you wanted to watch it. I can handle it," Kōki lied, waving his hand dismissively even as he was still trembling and hiding his face.

Shūzō tilted his head up to place a light kiss on his lips. “Come on, we can leave. Make sure that Seijūrō is still alive.”

He kept his arm around Kōki as he gratefully nodded and almost bolted out to yet another scream, which did comfort him. It wasn’t often that Shūzō initiated physical contact in public; he wasn’t like Seijūrō, who would be always holding his hand or hugging him from behind. “Why didn’t you tell me that you would be scared?” he asked when they were out of the cinema and Kōki was still trembling slightly.

"Because it’s ridiculous. I’m eighteen and yet I’m scared of a stupid movie. I’m not like you and Sei." He shrugged and stepped back.

"You and your feelings of inferiority…"

Kōki glowered.

"Listen, you’re captain of Seirin, right? So you’re a captain just like Seijūrō and I. And actually…" He pulled Kōki back. "I think you’re probably the best of the three of us."

"Shūzō…"

"I mean it. We both love you, Kōki."

He was reassured by that—maybe all he really needed was a reminder—and reached up to kiss him, his arms tightening around his neck and hands twisting in dark hair. “I’m sure Sei can wait a bit,” he said against Shūzō’s lips.

Shūzō chided him with a grin, slipping his hand into Kōki’s back pocket and pulling him into an alleyway.

Kōki resolved to keep this turn of events from Seijūrō. It would only make him laugh at them anyway.

Seijūrō was flicking through channels with a blanket tight around his shoulders and looking thoroughly miserable when they got back. Shūzō said that he’d go make some tea as Kōki settled next to him and put his arm around his shoulders. “You’re back early,” he said. “It was too much for you?” He sounded slightly amused and gave him a sardonic look when Kōki replied that it was something like that. “I know what you did, love,” he continued, kissing Kōki’s temple when he turned away and blushed. “Your hair’s a mess.”

"Feeling any better?" Shūzō said when he came in. Seijūrō sighed as Shūzō felt his forehead. "You’ve got a bit of a temperature." He nodded and closed his eyes.

"Just stay with me," he said. Shūzō leant his head on Seijūrō’s back.

This was a comfort too, being with the two of them. It felt familiar, not intimidating as it had in the beginning. Kōki supposed that what Shūzō had said, to a point, was right. Shūzō and Seijūrō may be completely different to him, but in a strange way their balancing act worked.

\--------------------------------

(2)

Right now, Seijūrō didn’t know whether going to the beach was a good idea or not, but by systematically categorising everything he enjoyed he allowed himself some sort of distance so he did that. The sound of the sea was always relaxing, as was Kōki’s familiar warmth next to him (do _not_ think about the  bare skin against his, just focus on the warmth). After weeks of clouds and cold weather the sudden heat from the sun, even by the sea, was a nice change. That breeze was quite pleasant too.

Of course, just as he was thinking all very innocent thoughts Shūzō came across his vision again. He immediately closed his eyes, even as Kōki sighed and leant against him.

“I’m not looking,” he insisted. Rather childishly.

“You’re missing out.”

Opening one eye slightly, he confirmed that he was, in fact, missing out. But even so, he would really rather not have that image in his head when he was in public. It wasn’t _his_ fault that his and Kōki’s boyfriend was that attractive; why did he have to be the only one to suffer for it?

Kōki shifted next to him. Seijūrō gave him a narrow look as colour came to his cheeks and he looked away.

Well, maybe he wasn’t the only one to suffer.

Shūzō caught his eye again – just as he was pushing a hand through his hair. Even though it was kind of a perversion of the use of the Emperor Eye, he still watched every muscle ripple under tan skin. From the corner of his eye he could see that Kōki was biting his lip hard and trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring as well.

“Well that is quite nice,” he said, almost weakly, leaning his head against Kōki’s shoulder as it shook from barely-restrained laughter.

It didn’t help his composure when Shūzō saw them watching him, narrowed his eyes even as he was grinning, and said, “Perverts.”

\----------------------------------

(3)

There was something different when Shūzō woke up one morning. He was slightly warmer than usual, sensed that he was right at the edge of the bed, and felt like a vice was constricting his chest. He tried to stretch to rid himself of the feelings but when he tried he could only move his right arm. His left was trapped against his body, and when he opened his eyes he identified the vice as Kōki, arms tight enough around him to bruise, fast asleep, and utterly immovable.

This was odd in itself. What normally happened was that Seijūrō and Kōki curled up together on one side of the bed and he on the other with his personal space uninvaded. He loved them, but he had never been the type to be tactile.

Seijūrō had his back to them and from the slow, gentle movements of his shoulders was still asleep. After one look down at the brunette head on his chest and the arm in a tight grip he sighed and prodded Seijūrō with his free hand, having to twist awkwardly to do so.

He rolled over and automatically took hold of a piece of Kōki’s t-shirt before his eyes opened and he smirked at the image before him. “Having some trouble?” he asked softly.

Shūzō narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to be able to get up and you know how hard he is to wake.”

Seijūrō looked him right in the eye and hopped gracefully out of bed. Show-off. Just because he didn’t have the octopus death grip on him. “You know how to wake a princess,” he said, looking fondly at Kōki and smiling.

"I would kiss him if I could move."

Seijūrō shot him a beautiful grin before sitting on the bed and turning Kōki’s head insistently to kiss his mouth lightly. All that happened was that Kōki shifted closer and tightened his grip even more. “Who knew he was so strong?”

Seijūrō frowned at Kōki before shrugging and crossing his arms. “Obviously he’s not a princess,” he reasoned. “You’ll have to come up with another way.” Shūzō eyed him when he got up, kissed him quickly and left the room.

Really, what would it hurt? Just getting off the bed, even if Kōki was dumped to the floor, should be enough to loosen his hold. He started twisting his body to sit up, until Kōki whined and turned his head to press his face into Shūzō’s chest. “Okay, I’m not moving!” he exclaimed. Kōki whimpered when he settled back and burrowed closer with a sigh he couldn’t help but imagine was self-satisfied.

It wasn’t _too_ bad, he supposed. On a non-regular basis it was really rather pleasant. He stroked his hand through Kōki’s hair and waited patiently for him to wake up.


	12. FukuFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ensui-no on tumblr (who requested locker room shenanigans but this was as far as I could go XD)

The end of the game marked the start of a sort of rut for Kōki. He didn’t _want_ it to; he wanted it to be a  catalyst for phenomenal development that meant they could beat Rakuzan next year and show the Emperors that their way of playing was wrong. He _wanted_ that to happen, to carry Kuroko and Kiyoshi’s broken dreams to some sort of end.

And he couldn’t help feeling like it was his fault. He should have been more of a challenge for Akashi instead of a meaningless piece of dust under his eyes.

He wasn’t _hiding_ in the  locker room after. Just… didn’t want to see the team all that much and didn’t want to risk a run-in with anyone from Rakuzan. Even if a part of him wondered whether they would actually come and look for him.

When footsteps were heard and the slow creak of the door reached him he turned away. “Furi? Are you…?” The voice trailed off and Kōki looked over his shoulder.

At that, Fukuda gave a grin. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You were supposed to become number one so you could confess to the girl you love—”

“Shut up, Fukuda,” Kōki said, glowering at him. He had sauntered over, still with that smug look in his eye before he sat down next to Kōki and kissed him.

“You did fine. Kagami couldn’t even stop him in the end.”

Kōki settled into his arms and drew some comfort that even if he _did_ blame himself, it wasn’t _his_ fault. Not really. Akashi was something else, and an Akashi who realised that he could actually lose was like trapping a wounded tiger in a corner. “I just wish I could have done more than—” Fukuda stopped him with another kiss and it was so warm and _so_ what he needed that Kōki tightened his arms around his neck and  refused to let go. Forgetting that until he was _ready_ to come out, he’d wanted to keep this relationship a complete  secret and forgetting that it was a distinct possibility that the entire team could walk in any minute. Fukuda kissed him back, almost angrily, and pulled him closer by his waist until Kōki’s legs were wrapped tight around his hips. If he’d been able to think with Fukuda’s lips trapping his and his hand slowly tracing along his waistband to his front then he would have been able to think about how he _really_ didn’t want his first time to be in a not-at-all  private locker room when the team could be anywhere looking for them, and about how this position meant the hinge of a locker was digging into his shoulder. But all the blood was draining from his head when Fukuda had his hand on the inside of his thigh and was definitely _not_ what was needed for rational thought.

“Uh… Furihata-kun? Fukuda-kun?”

Kōki yelped and pushed back, landing on the floor with an ‘ _oof’_ and with his legs still on the bench either side of Fukuda’s legs. He looked up and saw Kuroko from upside down, looking at him with slight worry.

“The bus is leaving in a few minutes. Did you hurt yourself when you fell? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I… we weren’t doing anything,” Kōki insisted. He got to his feet unsteadily (thanking the heavens for small mercies; even though the door was open no one else was there) and looked at Fukuda, who looked way too relaxed for someone who’d just been caught almost doing incredibly inappropriate things in a public place.

Kuroko looked mildly amused (or at least, his eyebrows moved about a millimetre upwards). “Of course not, Furihata-kun.”


	13. AkaFuri (Harry Potter AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr.

**Harry Potter AU**

Seijūrō had a plan for his entire life. A simple plan with simple steps; impress the teachers with his knowledge and his magical strength as well as his determination and intelligence, become prefect in his fifth year, move onto being head boy and immediately after school get a prestigious placement in the Ministry of Magic. By the time he was thirty, he knew he would have taken the top position and be Minister of Magic, same as his father.

What he _hadn’t_ expected, was that his world would be turned upside-down by the Hufflepuff boy that sat next to him in Charms and seemed to be afflicted by a strange tremor whenever he happened to look upon Seijūrō. He introduced himself normally when they were in class, but apparently his reputation had beaten him and the boy—Kōki—was hardly able to take his hand to shake it (his entire _body_ was shaking after all). Seijūrō was shocked, but let it pass by. Until he noticed that the boy was also in his Potions class. They were seated together—Shintaro would have called it fate but Seijūrō didn’t believe such ridiculous notions—and at some point during the lesson Kōki managed to break a vial of belladonna extract mixed with monksbane ( _why_ it was out in a first years’ class Seijūrō had no idea) and it spilled over Seijūrō’s hand. He hissed in pain as his skin seared red and Kōki yelped apologies and cowered as if Seijūrō was going to hit him. He considered it, but was interrupted by the Professor who told Kōki to take Seijūrō to the hospital wing.

He stayed for longer than he necessarily needed to, but Seijūrō was (in part) grateful for the company.

The next incident occurred at their first flying lesson. Seijūrō found himself standing next to Kōki again (by his own volition? He couldn’t remember) and he timidly asked Seijūrō how his hand was. Seijūrō replied that it was a lot better. He wasn’t lying, either. The skin only pulled a bit when he was writing and he hardly thought about it the past couple of days. The lesson started and Seijūrō was surprised to learn that Kōki was a decent flier. Maybe even more than decent.

With careful consideration and slow movements, he managed to befriend Kōki, only now and then asking himself _why_ he was bothering with it. It wasn’t as if Kōki was on his level; apart from flying he was completely average.

The next year they both joined their respective Quidditch teams, both as Chasers. The games could get slightly awkward sometimes, what with a determination rising in Kōki that Seijūrō hadn’t even realised he had causing him to become fixated on his goal. More than once Seijūrō was knocked off his broom if he let himself get distracted at all. Kōki would apologise profusely afterwards, and with a bit of guilt-tripping and manipulation Seijūrō found he could persuade Kōki to carry all his books for him from class to class—they shared many, after all.

And Seijūrō wasn’t really sure when it changed, but one day he was watching Kōki in Herbology and he’d taken his gloves off with a relieved sigh and pushed his fringe back carelessly and Seijūrō could only stare and think that he wanted Kōki as _his_. He stepped slightly closer to him and shot a narrow look around the greenhouse, lest anyone had seen that beautiful gesture and was thinking of making him their own. Over the next few weeks, which turned into months, which turned into an entire _year_ he tried to tell Kōki that they would have to be more than friends, but every time he panicked— _panicked_ —and would blurt out excuses which, as time went on, only became more and more ridiculous.

The worst parts were when a girl would come up to Seijūrō and in a nervous manner ask whether Kōki would be adverse to going out with her. After a curt, “ _He’s already interested in someone, sorry,_ ” she would scamper away, cheeks scarlet. And it happened a lot more than Seijūrō wanted it to. Every time Kōki would groan that he thought Quidditch players had more girls interested in them, and he’d only had a couple (which had slipped through Seijūrō’s careful guard) Seijūrō would feign absolute innocence.

“Don’t tell me you’re basing your worth on how many girls are interested in you?” Seijūrō said scathingly at one point.

Kōki blushed and averted his gaze. “No. But it would be nice sometimes, you know?”

Seijūrō looked up from his Transfiguration essay. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said casually. “Have you gotten much further with your essay?”

Kōki was chewing his lip as he watched him, but roused himself and shook his head. “Transfiguration makes no sense.”

Seijūrō couldn’t help thinking that if he got to ‘teach’ Kōki in his own way then he would learn a lot quicker and have a _lot_ more fun.

Kōki quit the Quidditch team in his fifth year, whilst Seijūrō stayed on as captain. In some ways it was better, seeing Kōki in the crowd, either teasingly making a point of supporting Hufflepuff or dutifully supporting Slytherin. Seijūrō knew from the beginning how it would go. Same as every year since he’d joined the team, and by even more of a margin when he was made captain near the end of his second year after the previous captain was injured, they would win. The finals were against Hufflepuff, and even seeing Kōki very obviously supporting Hufflepuff in the morning didn’t bother him. It was kind of cute, actually, watching his smirk and the way he gently put Slytherin down and boasted about his own house.

“Kōki,” Seijūrō said firmly after he insulted Slytherin’s captain.

Kōki grinned slightly sheepishly at him. “Yes?”

His big eyes seemed confused when Seijūrō only watched him for a moment. “I… after the game, if Slytherin wins, I need to tell you something.”

From Kōki’s expression and the way he chewed his bottom lip Seijūrō was pretty sure that Kōki knew. He had been dancing around the issue for over three years, after all. He nodded slowly, and after glancing nervously at him from under his eyelashes and fiddling with the front of his shirt he went up on his tiptoes to quickly kiss Seijūrō on the cheek. He froze. “For luck,” Kōki said as explanation, before bolting away, his shoulders hunched forward.

It was quite a surprise to Seijūrō that he didn’t fall off his broom after that, but Slytherin played, and naturally he beat Hufflepuff’s team. Kōki was already down from the stands and he smiled when he saw Seijūrō. Seijūrō was frozen again for a moment, before he started towards Kōki.

“So what was it that you—” Kōki broke off, _had_ to break off when Seijūrō tilted his head up and kissed him. After a pause in which Seijūrō considered whether he should move back and maybe apologise, Kōki made a small sound, pressed forwards and tugged at his hair to pull him closer.

So Seijūrō didn’t pull back. He’d waited long enough for this anyway.


	14. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For AkaFuri day. Apparently I have a thing for Koki in a French maid's uniform??? (No shush he looks adorable)

Kōki was positive that blood would be on his hands— _Kuroko’s_ blood—at precisely 10:38 that Tuesday morning.

He had to be behind this little development, after all. Only Kuroko, Fukuda and Kawahara knew and Kuroko was the only one who could talk to Akashi without choking up with fear. So as soon as Akashi walked in, Kōki clapped his hands to his mouth and ducked behind the counter.

"You’ve got this one, Furihata," Kida said lazily.

"No, I’m begging you. Take him for me."

Kida frowned at the cowering mass of lace on the floor. “I’m manning the cash register and you can’t even do that, so go take his order.”

"I can’t!" Kōki hissed, hoping that Kida would show a previously unknown side to himself and be unexpectedly generous.

"Why? Do you know him?"

Kōki whined and plucked at the black fabric. “He’s my boyfriend,” he muttered, glowering at his ensemble.

Kida glanced at Akashi again before grinning down at Kōki. “Go take his order or you’re fired.”

Kōki whimpered again, unsteadily getting to his feet and teetering on the high heels before finding his balance again. He could only meet Akashi’s eyes for a second before looking away again.

"Are… are you ready to order?"

When Akashi didn’t respond immediately Kōki frowned at him. “I’m perfectly content staying here and just watching you,” he said, catching hold of one of the silk ribbons and letting it slip through his fingers.

Kōki blushed and slapped his hand away. “If you’re not going to order anything I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Akashi sighed. “Fine. Coffee, please.”

Kōki hurried away.

It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ this job, but not many people were happy hiring someone who was leaving for university in less than a year. As a result, he was stuck in a perverted café whose dress code was _French maid’s uniforms_. Complete with a corset. At least it had amused Fukuda and Kawahara, enough that nowadays all it took was for him to show up and Fukuda would be lightheaded with laughter as Kawahara tried futilely to hold it back. Goodness forbid anyone say something in French (Fukuda being half-French certainly didn’t help), as they would both be indisposed for at least twenty minutes. Even Kuroko would crack a rare grin.

The coffee was made, and Kōki hadn’t thought up of an excuse to stay hidden behind the counter so he approached Akashi again, who was watching him with a distant look in his eye. He placed the coffee on the table, slapping Akashi’s hand away again as he played with the hem of the skirt.

"Who told you? Kuroko?"

"No…" Akashi said, taking hold of his hand. "Fukuda told me." Kōki tried to pull away when he kissed his palm. "I suppose I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I do find it rather cruel. You look beautiful like this."

"Akashi-san, I’m  _working_ ,” Kōki insisted, about 80% sure that he was lying (he’d seen himself in the mirror; he looked  _ridiculous_ ) but it was quite difficult to protest when Akashi got up from his seat to kiss him. He forgot enough of his surroundings that it didn’t even bother him when Akashi brushed his hand up his thigh.

"When’s your break?" he asked, his voice slightly breathless.

"My…? Oh, in an hour." Akashi let go of him.

"Don’t get changed," he ordered with a grin.

Kōki looked at him with slight incredulity as he sat down again. “Pervert,” he muttered. Akashi only looked at him with a small sigh.   
——-  
Fukuda received what could only be described as screeching on the other end of the telephone when he picked it up that evening. Although he didn’t entirely recognise the words, the voice was distinctive enough that he laughed and said, “Bonjour, ma p’tite,” which had settled into being his usual greeting when Furihata called.

"You… I thought you were too scared to talk to Akashi!"

"Well, he texted me. Wanted to know why you weren’t answering."

"I told you not to tell him! Do you have _any_ idea what kind of a pervert he is?”

"Uh… no?"

"He has no issues with molesting me in the restaurant—"

"Woah, I don’t need to know  _that_.”

"Shut up. I could actually lose my job if he keeps on coming over; it makes me nervous when he keeps on staring at me like that."

"Furi."

"Doesn’t help that he offered me a job and _then_ said that the dress code would be the same, more or less, and he emphasised the ‘less’, and I don’t even want to think about what he’d make me do.”

“ _Dude_.”

There was a sigh. “He’s such a pervert,” Furihata muttered. “I’m gonna go now. But I’m killing you tomorrow.”

Fukuda snorted. “Au revoir, ma p’tite,” he said before hanging up.


	15. AkaFuri

**Prompt - Autoschediasm (something which is improvised)**

It was only to be expected that the date would be perfect. Naturally; Seijūrō planned it meticulously, even if Kōki had been obviously surprised more than once. When Seijūrō had asked, he’d said under his breath that he hadn’t realised Akashi-san was _quite_ that rich.

_”It’s a bit odd, really. Why would Akashi-san be interested in me?”_

_"I don’t really need a reason, do I?"_ Having taken the trembling boy’s hand, he’d blushed the most beautiful colour Seijūrō had ever seen, but smiled—a  small smile—and held onto his hand tightly. And, in fact, he hadn’t let go after. Seijūrō was quite enjoying watching how he couldn’t quite meet Seijūrō’s eyes with embarrassment when he stroked his thumb over his hand.

A shortcut through the park had also been part of his plan, and he felt rather pleased with himself at the timing; the sun was only just setting and turning the sky alight. Kōki stopped, letting Seijūrō’s hand go and Seijūrō almost protested, but felt his words disappear. This was one thing he  _hadn’t_ entirely considered, after all; his own reaction to Kōki.

Kōki noticed the way Seijūrō was staring at him and bit his lip, looking away. “Sorry.”

Oh, this was ridiculous. There were even cherry blossom petals in his hair. He approached Kōki, whose blush deepened when he traced the tips of his fingers over his cheekbone. “You’re so cute,” he said, leaning his forehead on Kōki’s.

"Don’t say that," he said, crossing his arms. "I want to be manly," this was said quietly with a small sigh.

"Kōki…" He really couldn’t wait any longer, and kissed him, pulling back slightly when he didn’t react.

And met Kōki’s furious eyes.

"I’m sorry, I—"

"Who said you could pull away?"

Seijūrō paused, surprised at the determined expression on his face. “Kōki—” His words were effectively stopped when Kōki kissed him.

And although this hadn’t been in the plan, although he’d decided to do nothing more than kiss him on the cheek so early on in their relationship, when Kōki was warm against him and stealing his breath, he had to admit that a  _bit_ of improvisation was a good thing.


	16. MidoTaka (Zombie Apocalypse AU)

The silence was always the most eerie part.

After all, Kazunari had grown up where it was never silent; he hadn’t known until the disaster how it felt to have such pressure on his ears, when he couldn’t tell unless he talked whether he _had_ lost his hearing. Not that he wanted to fill the silence. Though the corpses didn’t do much in the way of hearing themselves after a certain level of decay, to fill the silence felt more intimidating. He didn’t want to have such power over such a necessary part of his life.

He hadn’t been quiet when he was younger. Back then, his mother had told him time and time again to be quiet, let her finish making that call, talk to that person at the door, finish her programme before he told her every little part of his day. Especially his experiences regarding his ‘other’.

His other. The one who had been more himself than he was, even though they were so different.

It saddened him that he couldn’t remember his other’s name.

It had been too long since he’d said it and too long since he’d felt the inclination to think of someone so many years after they probably died. It was the rule of this new world. The weak didn’t survive and weren’t protected or remembered. It made it easier when their corpses came, carving destruction.

Kazunari found a tree when his eyes started drooping and climbed to one of the highest branches before securing himself and looking up. His other had told him the names of stars and constellations, but this also he’d forgotten. The stars wouldn’t come down and give him weapons to protect himself or a barrier of fire, but he could do it. He was more powerful than them. Always more powerful.

\---

The corpses reminded him of the stars sometimes. Aloof and uncaring and insentient in their believed power. Conversely, Kazunari felt certain, to an extent, that these monsters saw and comprehended _some_ of their surroundings, some inkling of what they had been before the onset. He’d watched them carefully as they died, observed them from trees, and noted their stunted language in their movements and base expressions. These weren’t the types of zombies in movies that he’d forced his other to watch – _I won’t watch such a thing, Takao, not when it’s so close to becoming reality - It’s to learn for the future, ne, Sh-_ –time and time again, these had something.

He frowned at the small group below his tree and pushed his hair back impatiently when it fell in front of his eyes. _Too long_ , he thought, taking a knife from his pocket. He didn’t cut his hair too short, though. His other had liked it when it was slightly too long, even if he insisted he didn’t.

His movements rustled the leaves and the corpses looked up with blank eyes that brightened when they saw the young man. Kazunari merely watched them as they grunted, continuing with his hair. They snatched clumsily at strands that fell, trying to eat them before spitting them out and not trying again.

 _A capacity to learn, ne?_ He continued watching their attempts to try reaching him, flexing his leg muscles to make sure they wouldn’t cramp. When he moved from branch to branch they followed him.

He had to stop himself from dropping a weapon down and seeing whether they would work out how to use it.

After an hour of watching them as they growled and got increasingly more desperate, a rabbit crossed their path. Kazunari used that as a distraction, diving from the tree, rolling on the ground before getting up and running as fast as he could away from the sun. He didn’t know why he was travelling west but he felt compelled, ever since he saw his family covered in blood and being eaten. He’d been the lucky one; with the large group of adults, none of the corpses had been interested in one escapee.

The next tree he chose, that evening when the sun started dipping below the horizon again, was taller than his previous nest and when he climbed as high as he could he could see for miles around, see several small groups of corpses and the cluster of trees where he’d stayed before a dot on the horizon. On the other side was a darker mass, and he frowned at it, trying to decipher some details before the sun took away his light.

There was another group beneath his tree. The same ones as the night before, in fact. He looked down at them and put his head to one side. They’d followed him? That was more than what most corpses did. It was a group of three, one woman who must have been in her late thirties when she died and two boys who didn’t look that much older than Kazunari.

He talked for the first time in longer than he wanted to think about.

“Who were you?”

Three corpses put their heads to one side at his cracking voice and one of the boys grunted and opened his mouth wide. Kazunari lay on his stomach on a large branch and looked at them. “Do you have something to say?” he continued.

The boys started scrapping between themselves after a while, fighting over something Kazunari didn’t understand, but the woman stayed staring at him.

He wasn’t sure whether it was because zombies were the only company he had, but he could have sworn her expression was longing.

“I want to live,” he announced. To make his point, he took some dried meat and seeds from his bag and chewed them. The woman seemed to become more agitated at this, making high-pitched noises. He kept his eyes locked on hers, and dropped a piece through the branches. The woman dived for it, her bones making a low _thunk_ as she twisted unnaturally. Her left arm was bent at a strange angle when she retrieved the meat, but almost immediately it was snatched out of her hand and she received a bite on her neck from one of the boys. “You’re hungry too? I suppose one rabbit isn’t enough.” He secured himself on the branch. “That’s all I can spare, I’m afraid.” She growled and gurgled as Kazunari took a water bottle from his bag. His last one. He would need to find another river soon. “I’ll have to kill you three tomorrow,” he informed the corpses, lying back with his arms behind his head. “Unless you leave. I need to boil water before I can drink it and that takes time.”

They didn’t leave and Kazunari exhaled quickly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

\---

There was no need for the warning, in fact.

He was woken up the next day to the sound of sickening thuds and switched his perspective to observe it without having to look over the branch.

Two… no, three people. Two shorter, and the other quite a bit taller. One wasn’t moving, and was nervous by the way he was trembling. The others had just dispatched the woman.

Kazunari undid the strap that secured him to the branch and looked over the side.

“I knew it was a bad idea for me to come out,” the one who was standing still said. From Kazunari’s vantage-point all that he could see was that he had light brown hair and was holding a weapon which was still pristinely clean.

“Is that meant to be a pun?” The tall one, with dark blue hair said, wiping an axe unceremoniously on the clothes of one of the boys. He was hit around the head by the third, who had bright red hair.

His other had had odd-coloured hair too.

“No, Aomine,” the brown-haired one said patiently. “And if you make one more joke about it I won’t stop Sei from killing or castrating you.”

“I preferred it when you were scared of everything.”

Kazunari shifted and his hip clicked, loud enough that they heard and were struck to attention again. The red haired one pushed the brown haired one behind him, keeping his hand on his waist. The brown haired one looked up, right into Kazunari’s eyes and his lips parted slightly. “Sei…” He took the shoulder of the one in front of him and he followed his eyes.

Kazunari thought that he preferred the eyes of the corpses. There was too much life and emotion in the eyes of these other humans, more than he felt or even _wanted_ to feel.

“Oh!” the red haired one said. He manoeuvred the brown haired one so he was between their bodies.

Kazunari turned away and started packing his bag. The only river he knew was still an entire day’s journey away, and he was already starting to get a bit thirsty. He still had half a bottle left and swallowed a mouthful slowly before screwing the top tightly. His bag felt too empty and light when he descended and it made him nervous; now, the heavy bag was almost a weight to keep him on the ground. He felt he might float away.

“You’re alive,” the blue haired one said.

Kazunari ignored him and went to the corpse of the woman. He felt their incredulity as they watched him roll her onto her back and cross her arms over her chest, placing a daisy he picked from the ground in her hand. He was quite incredulous himself, but he’d been rather fond of her. She had listened to him. The boys he left; they were hacked into pieces anyway. Looking back over the horizon, he hefted his bag higher and started to move out.

“Wait!”

“Kōki!”

The brown haired one still grasped his arm and Kazunari turned back. His other hand was being restrained by the red haired one, who glared at him with odd, mismatched eyes.

“You’re not coming back with us?”

Kazunari just looked at him

“B-but, we’re a group. You won’t have to worry or be alone anymore. We protect each other.”

Kazunari didn’t answer.

“Don’t you speak Japanese?” He turned to the red haired one, who after sighing said something in another tongue. Kazunari didn’t understand the words, but dimly remembered the sounds from his past life. English, maybe? “Come with us,” the brown haired one continued, beckoning insistently.

He didn’t let go of Kazunari’s arm, so he didn’t really have a choice.

The mass on the horizon he’d spotted the evening before turned out to be a massive wall which hid a small civilization of maybe a hundred people; more than Kazunari thought still existed.

And more noise than he thought was possible. He shrank behind Kōki, who had chattered aimlessly to him the entire time he was walking as the red haired one, Sei, glared in their direction. Kōki noticed his change and took his hand to squeeze it comfortingly. “You’re fine. You’re safe now.” They were headed to one of the larger buildings near the centre, and at each step Kazunari felt like he was being watched and listened to. He pressed his lips together, until he felt a clap against his back, at which a shout escaped him. Kōki jumped and twisted round in time to see Kazunari throw a punch into the throat of his attacker.

“What’s _wrong_ with you, Aomine? Don’t scare him!”

Aomine coughed as Kazunari watched him with wide eyes, feeling slightly guilty. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, holding his hands up. “Just wanted to say that I was off. Good punch, though.”

Kōki rubbed his forehead and smiled at Kazunari when he turned back. “Ignore him. He doesn’t think.” He took Kazunari’s hand again. “We’re taking you to the doctor now, okay?” Sei, who was standing just behind Kōki, narrowed his eyes.

“He can understand you,” he said simply, before knocking at the door of the building. “Shintarō!”

“It’s fine if he doesn’t want to talk just yet,” Kōki said as Kazunari froze.

 _Shin… Shintarō_? Why did that name seem so achingly familiar?

“Shintarō, open the door now.”

It took a few more seconds (giving Kazunari time to sort through his muddled head and remember the bright green eyes that he thought he’d forgotten, and give his other a face before the door opened) and the man at the door frowned at Sei, before looking up and freezing.

“We found him out… side?” Kōki trailed off when he caught sight of Shintarō’s expression. “Uh… Midorima-san?”

“Takao, you’re…” He stopped a metre away from Kazunari, ignoring the others and looking at him as if he was the start of the world. Kazunari opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything. “You’re here. You’re alive.” His touch was so familiar and Kazunari felt himself melt into it, closing his eyes tightly and leaning his cheek into his palm. His skin was rougher than before, but that was good, there was no point pretending the past six years never happened.

“Shin-chan…” He was still holding Kōki’s hand, and Kōki slipped his out, going to stand next to Sei.

“You’re still alive.” He leant his forehead against Kazunari’s and sighed when Kazunari’s arms tightened around his neck and he nodded.

His other really was someone that he shouldn’t have forgotten or given up on.

 


	17. NijiAkaFuri

Retribution

**((Mostly AkaFuri with implied NijiAkaFuri))**

These business meetings of Shūzō’s that required him to be the other side of the country for a few days always made Kōki’s life hell. It wasn’t just the fact that he missed him like mad, but something about Shūzō kept Seijūrō… normal.

As was made explicitly obvious when they were playing shogi (naturally that was Seijūrō’s idea) and Seijūrō, calmly and expectantly, suggested that they play strip shogi.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t played before, but even playing two separate, simultaneous games against Shūzō and Kōki, he still won. To begin with, Kōki didn’t even dignify that suggestion with an answer.

Seijūrō countered that by reaching over with his foot under the table and stroking his thigh, only grinning like the evil person he was when Kōki yelped and pushed his foot away.

"Stop being such a pervert," he hissed, slamming a piece down on the board. He knew he’d made a mistake by the way Seijūrō leant forwards with an amused smile. He placed the winning piece on the board before making an upwards movement with his finger.

"Shirt off," he commanded.

"I didn’t agree to this."

He sighed and watched intently as Kōki glared and took his shirt off to throw it at him. Seijūrō caught it effortlessly, gathering it closer and thanking him politely.

Somehow he managed to push him to do a few more games (certainly didn’t help that he wouldn’t look away and Kōki was getting rather flustered under that unwavering gaze) and naturally remained fully clothed, and apparently completely serene.

"You’re making more mistakes now," he said. His foot travelled up Kōki’s thigh again, only this time Kōki just stared at him determinedly. "Not that I mind, obviously."

Kōki just thought about what punishments he could inflict on Seijūrō and whether he should ask Shūzō for some ideas.

It wasn’t until the phone rang and Seijūrō went to get it that Kōki let himself hit his forehead on the table at how much of an idiot he was and shiver for a few minutes, before turning his head. The closet caught his gaze (quite normal; holding clothes belonging to three people it was rather large) and Shūzō’s section was right in front of his eyes.

If there was one way to manipulate Seijūrō it was if he was wearing Shūzō’s clothes (he didn’t entirely understand it himself). It worked, though not to the same extent, on Shūzō also. Kōki listened out to hear whether Seijūrō was coming back before sliding off the chair and opening the doors, selecting a grey jumper. The sleeves came over his hands and the hem was about a third of the way down his thighs, and he shook his head. Still didn’t understand what Seijūrō found so appealing about this. Whenever he asked Seijūrō would just look at him longingly and say that he looked particularly innocent wearing clothes that were too big for him; which just further proved Kōki’s belief that Seijūrō was the most perverted person Kōki had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

He was still talking on the phone and looking out the window, so didn’t see Kōki when he hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, half considering whether to take a banana from the fruit bowl.

Seijūrō made an odd gasp when he turned and saw Kōki, and even though he felt himself blushing, Kōki tried to remain impassive. “Is there a problem?” he said lightly, leaning forwards slightly to prop his chin on his hand. It wasn’t planned, but quite welcome when the movement pulled the jumper off one shoulder. Seijūrō fixed his eyes on the revealed skin.

"I… uh…" Seijūrō took a slightly shaking breath. "Shūzō, I’m going to have to call you back."

Kōki was pretty sure he heard laughter from the other end of the line before Seijūrō disconnected and allowed himself one triumphant look. “How is he?” he asked as Seijūrō approached to stroke his cheek.

"Good. He’s coming home early. Tonight."

Kōki considered pushing him away and telling him they should wait but the way Seijūrō was looking at him was capturing him too much. He hadn’t considered that he might be just as much of a pervert in his own way.


	18. AkaFuku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rare pairs yay *gross sobbing*
> 
> tbh I ship Akashi with all of the Seirin first year trio because it's so obscure (Sei just needs someone normaaallll)
> 
> It's like two words long but y'know.

That Akashi is self-conscious about his height, though rather natural, surprises Fukuda. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; not when he’s surrounded by men at least a head above him, but Akashi always seemed so self-confident.

“Self-aware small dog syndrome?” he muttered under his breath.

Akashi’s eyes fixed on him. “What did you just say, Hiroshi?”

Fukuda froze and shrugged. “Nothing, Akashi.”

Akashi doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t say anything else, instead opting to narrow his eyes until Fukuda is squirming uncomfortably, and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Lean down,” he said.

Fukuda rolls his eyes and drops a kiss on the top of his head. He didn’t really expect Fukuda to obey, after all, and there was always a possibility to make it up to him that evening.

Akashi’s eyes are still narrowed when Fukuda takes his hand and pulls him along the street.


	19. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blind AUs are one of those things I shouldn't enjoy writing so much.

It was moments like this when it happened. It was almost like a veil was becoming more transparent and the shapes no longer revealed nothing of his surroundings and only required the smallest input of imagination to fill in the gaps. Seijūrō supposed that meant the doctor had been right; it had merely been a reaction to stress.

_Well I’ve calmed down my entire life now_ , he thought. It had been six months already since he’d been left in darkness.

He turned to face where he knew Kōki was (the rustling of pages was quite a give-away) and relaxed his mind as much as possible, thinking of nothing but the movements he could sense him doing.

"What are you doing, Sei?"

Seijūrō blinked. “Nothing.”

"Then stop facing me like that. It’s creepy. You didn’t stare at me like that before."

"You just didn’t catch me. I stared all the time."

Kōki dropped what Seijūrō presumed to be the book and stammered as he scolded him.

He was so _cute_ , Seijūrō thought desperately (feeling rather ridiculous at the same time). He could just about see the outline of his body and the memories of when he’d seen Kōki flustered almost managed to fill in the gaps. He would be - no, he _was_ \- worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and alternating between looking at Seijūrō and looking down at the floor. The blush would be colouring his cheeks.

He wanted to _see_ it.

And with that desperation, snatching at the ephemeral image, it was gone like a wisp of smoke and any contrast was lost. He couldn’t even see Kōki any more.

His expression must have changed because Kōki was kissing his forehead and stroking his hair comfortingly. “Don’t stress yourself out,” he said softly.

"I’m not." With Kōki close, the tension in his neck and shoulders bled away. "I was just thinking about what I’m most annoyed about."

"Hmm?" He continued brushing Seijūrō’s hair back.

Seijūrō sighed and smirked. “You could be walking around naked at any time and I just wouldn’t know.”

"Seijūrō!" That earned him a slap around the head and some half-hearted struggling when Seijūrō closed his arms around Kōki’s waist.

"In fact I’ll have to start checking your attire a lot more often."


	20. MayuAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a piece of shit for writing this (and it's so mild too XD)
> 
> I don't even understand Chihiro's character enough to write him.

MayuAka - Philophobia

Seijūrō told himself that he didn't enjoy this, that this was punishment for Chihiro for his insolence. He hadn't intended this to happen, after all; _nothing_ was coming out as he had scripted. He'd gotten too close, and then Chihiro was kissing him and pushing him against the cold metal of the lockers. Seijūrō didn't even stop him, for a while. He'd been short-sighted for the first time in months. 

It was a battle, right now, a battle to reduce the other to a mess of moans and begging. Seijūrō instinctively knew that he would win, like any other time, even though it was a challenge to squash the sensations down and lock them away in his mind. He focused only on the mechanics for as long as he could, a particular swipe of his tongue or pressure against Chihiro's body that would make him lose focus for the shortest instant. He would make him beg before denying him everything; that was as good a punishment as anything. 

But Chihiro must have been learning him too, and he couldn't stop the shiver that went all the way through his body when he bit his lower lip harshly, and in retaliation Seijūrō jabbed him in the ribs, digging his nails in until Chihiro gasped against his mouth. "Know your _place_ ," he hissed, and Chihiro bit his lip again, pulling him up by his hips until Seijūrō locked his legs around his waist. " _Senpai_ ," he said, jabbing his ribs again, but his legs tightened around Chihiro, and he broke away to gasp for breath when Chihiro pressed against him harder; hard enough that he wondered whether just that was enough to keep him suspended. 

He had to bite his tongue when he almost moaned at Chihiro's movements and retaliated again, this time biting his neck and shoulder--anything that he could reach--and felt a surge of triumph when Chihiro was the first to moan, meeting Seijūrō in a scorching kiss again. 

It wasn't long before Chihiro was breathless, and Seijūrō almost scoffed at the emotions in his eyes. He was showing weakness. All the better for his loss. 

But then his hand was brushing against Seijūrō's hair, his fingers tender through the strands and lighter than a feather when they were against his jaw and neck. When they lingered over his collarbone and Seijūrō felt something build up, some better-buried natural reaction to _tenderness_ he dug his nails into the nape of his neck and dragged them over to his shoulders, watching the red welts with sadistic fascination and pride. "Don't you _dare_ show me that kind of weakness. I don't want any of _that_."

"What are you talking about?" he flinched when Seijūrō dug his nails in further. 

"Don't even think this means anything."

Chihiro's hands settled on his hips instead, his lips pulling back slightly from his teeth. "You're a selfish bastard, Akashi."

Seijūrō understood the message behind it and couldn't help a small smirk before Chihiro kissed him again. Admitting such a thing, even in a cryptic way, was the same as failure. _Any_ kind of feeling was a failure, which only meant the inevitable had happened and Seijūrō had won. 

Almost experimentally, in a way that made Seijūrō's insides freeze, though, Chihiro stroked his thigh, gently enough that it could have been a leaf against his skin. Seijūrō tugged his hair back, exposing his throat and bit down on it until Chihiro was shuddering, but he still didn't stop stroking his thigh and hips until he caught Seijūrō's hands and trapped them against the lockers. "I _told_ you--"

"And I ignored you." Chihiro's voice was a heated whisper and he pressed gentle, _loving_ kisses over Seijūrō's neck. 

It was too much. He could feel it; he would be the one to break first and beg. Even when he tried to separate his mind from his body Chihiro's gentle kisses and the rhythmic rocking of his hips brought him back. 

" _Chihiro_."

"What happened to calling me 'senpai'?" His breath was warm against Seijūrō's throat and against his will Seijūrō's hands clenched into fists and his legs tightened around Chihiro. "It's so enticing when you call me that; I _knew_ you had a senpai complex."

Seijūrō wanted to hurt Chihiro, even would have settled for Chihiro hurting him if it meant he could get away from this intimacy. But when he struggled, all that happened was Chihiro pressing closer, his breath a tremor against Seijūrō's skin. The pleasure was almost painful, and Seijūrō's vision was narrowing before he tore his hands free and shoved Chihiro back, landing unsteadily on his feet. "I told you to stop that."

Chihiro blinked, but his expression settled into blankness. "Do you honestly believe I'm that stupid? You enjoyed that, Aka..." he trailed off and gave a small, victorious smile. "Seijūrō." 

Seijūrō saw red and a sharp intake of breath through his teeth only made Chihiro smile wider. "Get out."

He kept perfectly still when Chihiro pressed a kiss to his lips and lingered. "You're really terrified, aren't you? I'll only call you 'Akashi' once you start calling me 'senpai' again. It's... enticing," he repeated. His thumb traced the outline of Seijūrō's waistband teasingly before he left. 

A forced resignation from the club was in order, and when asked by Reo Seijūrō explained that he hadn't measured up to Tetsuya's standards. 


	21. MidoTaka

If Shintaro had been a sentimental and particularly kind man then the sight of Kazunari wrapped up in their blanket would have caused his heart to melt. He would have smiled sappily and kissed his forehead and gathered him up in his arms whilst crooning ‘I love you so much my Kazunari’ and been warmed by the mere fact that they were close. Such reactions, though, were utterly ridiculous and as it was, it had been one too many times that Kazunari’s gyrations (no, not like that) had ripped the covers from Shintaro’s body and cocooned around him so he was comfortable. However, Shintaro was bloody freezing, even with his thick woollen pyjamas and night cap.

"You idiot, Kazunari," he said, tugging slightly on a piece of fabric to find the edge.

Kazunari whined slightly and shook his head, though his breathing stayed the same. “Shin-chaannn…” he murmured and his lips pulled up slightly at the edges (which did not make Shintaro’s heart soften because that was ridiculous, as should be _perfectly_ obvious).

Meanwhile, he found the edge of the blanket and tugged on it, trying to get enough out from under Kazunari so he could huddle under it too (during which Kazunari giggled and said “that tickles” in a tone that made Shintaro wonder what he was dreaming of). But he couldn’t quite get it off him, and in the end he growled in frustration, got up onto his knees and pushed Kazunari off the bed whilst still keeping hold of the blanket. He landed on the floor with a thump but as Shintaro held his breath, still on his knees and holding the blanket, he didn’t jump up onto his feet, yelp, or even stir.

At which point Shintaro was considering the possibility that his boyfriend wasn’t entirely human.

It was quite a relief, in fact, to lie back against the pillows under a cover that wasn’t being jerked off him. He folded his arms behind his head and sighed in contentment (even though it still felt kind of cold without Kazunari burrowing closer to him and the bed felt oddly hard without the slight dip in the mattress from his weight). When Kazunari whined and there was a slight rustling Shintaro thought he’d woken up and turned his head, expecting to see Kazunari's face pop up, his hands rubbing his eyes blearily, maybe yawning a bit as he said “Did I fall off the bed, Shin-chan?” and clambering next to him and leaning his head on his chest, sighing in contentment, saying that he loved him as he always did when he fell asleep a mere few seconds after having burrowed into Shintaro’s arms. But instead there was a soft sigh and whimpering of “Cold.”

Shintaro dragged his way to the edge of the bed and looked down to see Kazunari curled up in a ball and shivering slightly, though his eyes were still closed and he mumbled incoherently as he usually did when he was asleep.

Maybe he wasn’t being fair. After all, Kazunari had only his underwear on. And he really did seem cold. With an expletive muttered under his breath, Shintaro thrust the blanket off his body and dropped it on Kazunari’s, who sighed again, a small smile gracing his features as he turned and faced Shintaro even though his eyes were still closed. Shintaro reached down to brush a strand of dark hair back from his forehead before turning back to face the ceiling, crossing his arms and fixing his expression into a scowl as if that could undo the tenderness of the action he’d just performed.

In fact, it wasn’t long until he joined Kazunari on the floor and pulled him into his arms, all the while wondering whether senility could set in at the age of 21.


	22. MayuKuro

Physical affection came slowly for Mayuzumi, starting with ‘accidental’ brushing of hands and elbows when they were walking. Kuroko would merely look at him with an unreadable expression (which was becoming readable, Mayuzumi noticed when he understood the slight tilt of his eyebrows) and turn back to the front. Once Mayuzumi understood the set of his shoulders he understood that Kuroko was annoyed.

It was when they were in MajiBa and Kuroko had ordered them vanilla milkshakes (Mayuzumi grimaced but still accepted) that he _really_ looked hurt, even by normal human standards. He had asked that Mayuzumi sit next to him, but, after a noncommittal gesture, refused and instead sat in front of Kuroko. After battling with himself for several minutes during which an uncomfortable silence arose, Mayuzumi smiled apologetically. “I’ m sorry. I don’t find it easy to show any kind of… affection.”

Kuroko’s answer was quiet and reassuring, “No need to worry, Mayuzumi-senpai,” but still distant enough that Mayuzumi could feel him slipping away.

“I don’t know why it’s so difficult now. I mean, I’ve had relationships and it’s never been all that hard.” It was spilling out, now, and Kuroko was watching him with the interest a scientist might have when observing a particularly odd species. “I could just hold their hands and kiss them and whatever, but I wasn’t in love with them.” He froze when his words caught up to his brain and knowledge settled in which he hadn’t even started taking into account. He caught Kuroko’s light eyes, which weren’t expressionless, and the light blush on his pale cheeks gave him the courage to continue. “But I kind of am with you. So you’ll have to get used to me not being able to put myself on the line all that much.”

He sighed, and Mayuzumi was somehow aware that Kuroko hadn’t been breathing since his confession. “I would have thought that with your extensive knowledge of light novels you would have come up with a better way to confess.” He sipped at his drink placidly as Mayuzumi glowered.

“Hey, it’s different when it actually happens in reality.”

Stopping when Kuroko smiled, he looked at **the table** and thought that he would rather like to be laid out dead on top of it instead of suffering this humiliation. “I know it is.”

Kuroko was blushing too, and had joined him in looking at **the table** rather than at his companion. “When you say that you _know_ …”

“I feel the same.” Mayuzumi let out a long breath and didn’t pull away when Kuroko took his hand, instead focussing on the roughness of his palm and the strength of his grip. “Is this okay?” he asked, meeting Mayuzumi’s eyes.

“Not quite enough.” Mayuzumi reached forwards, cupping his cheek and enjoying the way his cheeks darkened again when he stood up.

“We’re in public,” he complained.

“It’s not as if anyone will take notice of us.”

A slightly impish smile was hovering around Kuroko’s lips before he kissed Mayuzumi, the grip on his hand tightening as he brushed the corner of Mayuzumi’s mouth before—finally—a real kiss which tore the breath from him. This, also, was something the light novels hadn’t prepared him for, the teasing pressure and gentle touch of the tip of his tongue. He almost pulled away to demand how Kuroko had learnt to kiss like that, but suspected that fell under the category of ‘creepy, possessive boyfriend’, which he didn’t want to lay claim to.

Because he knew it would make him laugh (at least inside), when they separated he pulled a face. “You taste like vanilla.”

Kuroko did laugh, slightly giddily, which put such a light-hearted expression on his face that Mayuzumi could only gaze at him for a few moments. “So do you,” he said, sitting back down and picking up his drink again.


	23. MayuAka

**Of Sleepless Nights and Fights**

Chihiro thought deeply when he couldn’t sleep. Deeper than others, he was sure; about how light novels reflected life in a more profound way than people gave them credit, how stars that he could see outside the window could actually have been dead for years, and how his life would be different had he never gone to Rakuzan and set in motion what lead to the boy currently sleeping next to him.

As in, he wouldn’t be indescribably jealous of the fact that he was currently fast asleep whilst Chihiro was completely awake.

Seijūrō gave a little sigh in his sleep as Chihiro turned to stare at the ceiling with his own, rather loud, sigh, in the hope that Seijūrō would wake up and they would pass the time doing anything else. “ _Seijūrō_ ,” he hissed, prodding at his shoulder. He frowned in his sleep and rolled over; a clear signal even in unconsciousness that Chihiro was not in control.

The time, projected onto the ceiling, prompted a sort of despair that only time could; he had three hours to get any sleep possible before he had to go to work, and still could hardly even keep his eyes closed. With another loud sigh and a sideways look to see whether Seijūrō reacted he took the book from his nightstand—a particularly exciting novel about a kamidere pursuing a deredere—and opened it at where he’d left it, turning on the light. This illumination, apparently, was what Seijūrō was sensitive to; he turned to glare at him, his emperor eye throwing back the light like a cat. Chihiro shivered and edged away, holding the book between them. “Geez, Seijūrō, don’t look so creepy.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then, by all means, bother everyone else.”

“What everyone else? You’re the only other one—” he groaned when Seijūrō kicked him—multiple times—and carried on glaring as if it was Chihiro who was being… well, abusive.

“Get out.”

“I’m going. God forbid that I try to be comfortable—” He would have continued, had Seijūrō not thrown a pillow at his head as he was climbing out of the bed. Chihiro rolled his eyes, tucked it under his arm and kissed Seijūrō, which he accepted easily even with his ‘anger’.

Maybe he should think more about their relationship and the strange balance of intimacy and friction between them. At least, he thought that until Seijūrō bit his lower lip and pushed him away, falling back onto the bed and pulling the covers over his head.

“You bastard,” he muttered to the tuft of red hair still visible, rubbing his eyes as he went to the sitting room; hopefully for _some_ peace and quiet.


	24. AkaFuri

Childhood Friends AU

“So what is this game, Sei-kun?”

Seijūrō let go of his queen’s (Kōki’s) hand to bounce the basketball that he’d been squeezing under his arm. “It’s basketball.”

“I’ve heard of that! Otou-san watches it sometimes. And sometimes I watch it with him.” Kōki looked at him in admiration. “Can you play, then, Sei-kun?”

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “Not yet.” The hoop was high above him; he wouldn’t be surprised if it touched the clouds. When he threw the ball up with all the strength his small body could muster it still fell short, bouncing on the ground as Seijūrō shielded his eyes from the sun and looked again at the metal hoop. Kōki, who had scurried off after the ball, ran back with it in his hands.

“Keep on trying, Sei-kun. You’ll be able to do it. You can do anything,” he said proudly. He beamed when Seijūrō looked at him and handed the ball back.

“You really think so, Kōki?”

Kōki nodded hard enough that his hair was almost sticking up on end when he finished. “Absolutely anything.”

Seijūrō’s ears pricked at Kōki’s new word before throwing the ball up as hard as he could again. This time, it just brushed the underside of the rim, catching the net.

“Almost!” Kōki shouted, running after the ball again and throwing it in Seijūrō’s direction. “Maybe if you jump?”

Seijūrō nodded and gave the hoop another determined look. It passed in a shadow in front of his face, but only hit the underside of the rim again. Kōki, having caught it, watched for a moment as Seijūrō glared at it angrily. “Don’t give up!”

Seijūrō looked at his queen, whose eyes had widened in response to his expression. He watched as Kōki put his head to one side and smiled. “Come over here.” Kōki ran forwards, the ball still in his hands. “I think I need some kind of good luck charm,” he said seriously.

Kōki frowned. “Good luck charm? But, Sei-kun, what could that be?”

In the sun, he had some orangey-red strands in his hair. Seijūrō caught one of the strands before letting it go. “You’re my good luck charm. You can’t ever leave my side.”

Kōki shook his head slowly. “Of course not.”

“Right, good luck charm…” he mused under his breath before tugging the ball from Kōki’s hands and kissing him on the mouth like he’d seen his parents do a few times. What he hadn’t expected, though, was Kōki’s reaction. He jumped back with a yelp and covered his mouth with his hands. “What?”

“That’s how babies are made!”

Seijūrō blinked and tapped his lip. “Are you sure, Kōki?”

“Yes! Oka-san told me; a seed goes from one person to the other and a baby is made.” He looked fearfully down at his abdomen, as if he expected it to be swollen.

Seijūrō put his head to one side. “But you’re a boy. Boys can’t have babies.”

There were tears in Kōki’s eyes and his lower lip trembled but he looked hopefully at Seijūrō. “Are you sure?” he asked in a whisper. Seijūrō stepped forwards and kissed him again—only this time on his forehead—and with his thumb wiped away the tears that had spilled over.

“Trust me.”

He waited until a still-tearful Kōki nodded before trying—and missing—the shot again.


	25. AkaFuri

**Continuation of[this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1245541/chapters/2700958)**

It had taken a long time and careful planning and avoidance to get Akashi to stop calling him. Part of Kōki felt guilty; he hadn’t had the guts to say outright that he didn’t want to see the Emperor after the horror that was the last training camp. He was pretty sure that Kuroko was displeased with the way things had turned out with his former captain, but it wasn’t until they were on the coach on their way to another training camp that he confronted him.

"Furihata-kun, I have to talk to you about Akashi-kun."

Fukuda, sitting next to Kōki, choked on an ill-timed drink.

"Why?"

"Because I don’t think you handled it very well."

"Handled what? It was nothing!"

"It wasn’t nothing to Akashi-kun."

Kōki frowned, shot a death glare to where Fukuda was pressing his face into his balled-up jumper as his shoulders shook from laughter and then looked at Kuroko again questioningly. “Were you the one who gave him my number?”

Kuroko blinked. “Yes.”

"But, anyway—dammit Kuroko—it really was nothing. He scares me half to death; I just didn’t know how to tell him!"

Kuroko gave a barely-noticeable sigh when Kagami jabbed him in the ribs. “Although I did convince him not to come to Tokyo.”

Kōki whimpered at the thought; Akashi turning up at his house and meeting his family, going to Seirin and meeting his  _friends_ , his reputation would tank and everyone would be talking about him as the boy going out with the creepy, heterochromic heir to one of the most powerful conglomerates in the country.

"Thank you," he almost groaned, bowing in his seat and rubbing a sore spot on his head after the coach jolted and he collided with Kagami’s seat in front of him.

"So why didn’t you try with him, Furihata-kun?"

Kōki sighed and flattened the hair on the top of his head. “Because I’m not gay. If we win against Rakuzan this year then I’ll be able to ask out…” He trailed off and blushed when he thought about his crush and how pretty her eyes were, her hair which was the darkest black he’d ever seen. He’d always thought she looked like an Egyptian princess, the same regality and power.

Kuroko turned back to the front as Fukuda slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand. “I think you should have given him a chance.”

Kōki spluttered indignantly and desperately looked to the other side of the aisle, but Kawahara had his earphones in, music turned loud enough for Kōki to recognise the tune, and eyes shut tight. “ _That_ ,” he insisted, “is an  _idiotic_ idea.”

"Hey, he called you beautiful. It was sweet."

Kōki’s hands clenched into fists and he kicked Fukuda—as hard as he could in their current position—and Riko shouted across the bus at Fukuda’s yelp. “What are you two doing? You’re supposed to be the mild ones!”

Kawahara blinked at them and turned off his music. “What’s up with you two?”

"Nothing!"

"Oh, and Furihata-kun?"

Kōki ignored Fukuda, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and looked around his seat to where Riko was standing in the aisle, not even wobbling with the movement of the coach. “Uh… yeah?”

"So that we could get our meals with the hotel seeing as you lot don’t want me to cook—" a vicious glare was sent around the coach, particularly to Kagami, "—we had to do the same as last time. We have a joint reservation with Rakuzan again." She seemed rather startled when Kōki’s face drained of colour and squeaked as Fukuda—from yet another badly-timed drink—started coughing through his laughter. "I just thought you should know, what with what happened last time." When he still didn’t respond, she glanced at Kiyoshi and Hyuga with wide eyes. "Furihata-kun?"

He heard one of the first years whispering an inquiry as to what happened the last time (to which Izuki replied, “He played some…  _basketball_ , per se, with Rakuzan’s captain,” and Kōki shouted that he had done nothing of the sort. It wasn’t a lie, either. In the elevator it had just been some… very intense, granted… making out. With some inappropriate touching and… and something else, but that had all been Akashi’s idea; he had instigated everything!) and, annoyed that Fukuda was still laughing and saying something about a ‘tryst part two’ he left his seat (after saying “I hope you choke to death!” to Fukuda) to dive over to Kawahara’s side, curling up on the seat. Seeing Akashi again, after completely ignoring him for close to half a year, made him feel as if he was in a metal box constricting his movements and only tightening. Through the rushing in his ears he heard Kawahara saying in a high-pitched voice, “Uh… Furi?? C-calm down,” and putting a jacket over his shoulders. “Do you… uh… want a drink?”

"Do you have any whiskey? Or any alcohol. Anything."

Kawahara didn’t reply and Kōki pulled the jacket over his head. Darkness was good. It was better, in fact. His imagination meant that he could pretend he was home. Any second now his sister would bound into his room just to annoy him. He wasn’t in the coach, he wasn’t on his way to the gallows.

Kawahara patted him when the coach stopped and tugged the jacket from him. “This can’t be happening,” he said morosely, looking out the window and trying to memorise what the sky looked like before it was too late and he ended up chopped into pieces and buried around some random forest.

"You don’t have to see him. Fukuda and I will make sure of it. As will Kuroko! Won’t you, Kuroko?"

Kuroko was expressionless. “He actually asked me specifically about seeing you, Furihata-kun. There’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid.”

"What?"

"What Akashi-kun wants, he gets." He shrugged and Kagami looked at him as if he’d just broken through the earth’s crust—clad with horns and a spiked tail and everything—complete with flames of destruction. Kōki thought the same.

"Oh! Well, um… this is just one thing he’ll have to not get. Even if he… uh… wants it," Kawahara insisted, seemed concerned when Kōki began shaking in his seat. "We have to go, Furi."

"I’m pretty sure I can stay in here for the week."

"Oh yeah? And eat what?" Fukuda joined Kawahara as the others got off the bus, Hyūga ordering them not to take too long.

Kōki bit his lip. “The seat-covers,” he concluded.

"Oh, no. You don’t know how long they’ve been there."

"Well then you two can sneak out some food for me. I’ll pay you!"

"With what?"

"Seat covers?"

Fukuda shook his head and snickered as Kawahara patted Kōki’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’ll just have to face up to him. It’ll only be awkward the first time; after that it’ll be fine.”

"Oh, I don’t know abou— _ouch_ , Kawahara—yeah it’ll be fine.” Kōki wasn’t entirely convinced by Fukuda’s half-hearted reassurance; only brought about by Kawahara smacking him in the chest. “But, seriously, why did you have sex with him if you didn’t want it to go anywhere?”

"I didn’t have sex with him!" They raised their eyebrows and Kōki raked a hand through his hair. "Okay, but it wasn’t… full-on." Fukuda sighed and shook his head as Kawahara merely looked confused. "I was just a bit bicurious! Why does it have to come back to ambush me?"

"Furi, what  _we_ did was bicurious. If I’m getting the insinuation right what you and Akashi did was a lot more. And anyway, if you just wanted to experiment you chose the wrong guy.”

"What insinua… wait a minute; what did you two do?"

Kōki blushed as Fukuda froze. “Nothing!” he insisted, barrelling past them with the strap of his bag wrapped tightly around his hand.

Kawahara frowned at Fukuda. “What did you two do?” he repeated.

Looking rather uncomfortable, he shrugged. “We may have made out a little.”

Kawahara shook his head as he followed Furihata’s quickly-receding back. “That boy’s love-life is a mess.”

——-

Having caught up to the rest of the team and scoured the surroundings for the certain redhead he was avoiding at all costs, Kōki felt he could breathe a sigh of relief. After all, he was short and didn’t attract as much attention as Kagami or Kiyoshi; if he hid within the group—possibly next to Kuroko—Akashi would never realise that he was there.

"So instead of doing it like we did last year, in an effort to get on better with Rakuzan in general you will all be rooming with someone from the other team. I hope to make this training camp a regular thing." Riko may have continued talking or may have not, what with the way the blood was rushing through his head again Kōki couldn’t tell. After all, this training camp was getting worse and worse, and he could only imagine… "Furihata-kun, you’re with Akashi-kun."

Kōki whined and buried his face in his hands. It couldn’t be that.  _Anything_ but that. “Coach…”

"I’m sorry. You were originally with Hayama-kun but… but Akashi-kun insisted."

“ _Anyone_ but him. Even Izuki-senpai!”

Riko shook her head as Izuki protested.

Kawahara and Fukuda gave him wry, apologetic smiles. “Can’t do anything about that, Furi… Yeah, sorry the seat covers won’t work out…” Meanwhile, Kōki felt like he was going to pass out from hyperventilating.

"I’m going to end up dead."

"And why would that be, Kōki?"

Kōki was  _pretty_ sure that when he turned round Akashi would have a bloody knife in one hand, a revolver in the other, and a creepy smile on his face as his eyes glowed with a demonic light, clad in a once-beautiful, now-bloodstained yukata.

Which he wasn’t, of course. He only had his phone in one hand and holding the strap of his bag onto his shoulder with the other. The clothes he was wearing, though obviously expensive, were normal.

"Uh… hi?"

Akashi regarded Kōki as if he was a science experiment about to explode. “I expect your coach has told you about the arrangements?”

Kōki swallowed and blushed when Akashi’s eyes went down to his throat. “Y-yes.” Akashi kept on staring at his throat, his lips slightly parted, and Kōki felt as if he was a gazelle about to be torn down by a lioness. “Are we… I mean, do you want to go up now? Or… or wait down here, either is fine! Oh, if you go up maybe you’d like if I stay here for a bit? Although I will need to drop my bags off…” He noticed Akashi’s eyes narrow and yelped before adding on, “But I can always stay with my bags down here! I don’t mind! Really!”

"Kōki…"

His hand was going down, towards his bag and Kōki—the image of him taking out a menacing weapon infiltrating his mind—jumped back whilst simultaneously bowing. “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!”

"Kill…?"

"I want to live! I want to get married and have children and a garden and I want to grow flowers or maybe have a pet; I want a normal life and it’s only just starting so please don’t kill me!"

Akashi didn’t respond for a moment, and when Kōki peeked up at him through his fringe he sighed and put his head to one side, a particularly cute—wait, not _cute_ , Akashi was not _cute_ —expression on his face. “Did you just propose to me?”

Kōki straightened, his chest filling with horror. He felt constricted but at the same time so confused by the look on Akashi’s face. “No! Of course not!” he said whilst trying to decipher the look—to no avail. “I just… I’m sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have ignored you; it was cowardly. I… I’m sorry.”

Akashi inclined his head and Kōki sighed in relief. It felt… better, to get the guilt and shame off his shoulders. “I realised after that I came on a little strongly,” Akashi said. “After this week I’m sure we’ll see eye-to-eye… on many things.”

Kōki squeaked, unable to say anything, and desperately looked towards his teammates (all of which were looking at him as if it was a particularly interesting scene in a film—though Kawahara was peeking through his fingers as though he could hardly bear to watch) as Akashi took his wrist and pulled him away.

"What do you mean by that?"

He didn’t know how to react to Akashi’s heated gaze (although his body certainly knew how it  _wanted_ to respond) and half-heartedly tried to tug his hand away. Akashi only tightened his grip. “I know the entirety of the future[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86414085128/of-broken-elevators-and-stolen-kisses-pt-2#), Kōki. We’ll be together.”

"Eh?"

"We’ll be together. You’ll have everything you want."

Pretty sure that Akashi had misunderstood exactly what he wanted, Kōki shook his head. “Akashi-san, I’m straight. I like girls[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86414085128/of-broken-elevators-and-stolen-kisses-pt-2#). I have a crush on a girl.” Roughly translated, _please let me go Akashi-san, please let me live free of you_.

Akashi stopped in the hall and turned to run his fingers gently through Kōki’s hair. He stayed perfectly still, terrified expression frozen in place. “Then what was that in the elevator? Rather passionate for someone who’s straight. And for such a talent to go to waste…” He smirked when Kōki gasped and jumped back, one hand covering his mouth.

"It was just to pass the time. I’m straight," he insisted. Akashi’s hand curved over his neck. "I just w-want a normal life." He didn’t look convinced, tugging Kōki’s wrist to pull him closer, and approaching himself when Kōki resisted. "W-without… uh…" Any words flew out of his head; he couldn’t remember what he had been about to say or had already said, not when Akashi had come close to him and was looking at him directly in the eyes as he dropped Kōki’s wrist and instead curved his arm around his waist. He  _could_ respond to Akashi, of that much he was  _acutely_ aware, but he was straight! He had to be, after so long crushing on… “This isn’t—”

"Kōki." Kōki realised he’d been staring at Akashi’s mouth and blushed as he looked him in the eye again, a second before opting instead to stare at the wall. He  _was_ straight… wasn’t he? Although he’d enjoyed what had happened in the elevator, it didn’t mean that he wanted it to happen again! He was a teenage boy; of course he could… uh… ‘react’ to anything and everything.  _That_ had been…

Having been unconsciously moving nearer, Akashi kissed him, pulling him closer when he gasped against Akashi’s lips, his hands grasping at his waist and squeezing the fabric of his shirt[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86414085128/of-broken-elevators-and-stolen-kisses-pt-2#), which was soft and… which colour was it again? He couldn’t remember and couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes to check. Better to focus on the gentle pressure of Akashi’s lips and the heat wherever they were touching. He was disoriented when Akashi pulled away and almost tugged him back in protest. “You’re not very convincing,” he said.

Kōki, resigning himself to his fate (and damning absolutism in his mind) sighed and dropped his head forwards. “Yeah, okay. Maybe. We can try.”

"You’ll fall in love with me before the week is over." Akashi smiled, seeming to relish the challenge.

(Kōki decided against informing him that he’d already won.)


	26. AkaFuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fantasy AU, three parts originally posted separately (on tumblr)

Kōki woke up wondering why he smelt smoke and felt so warm. The house was never warm, after all, except in the heights of summer, and his little sister had a delicate enough constitution that she needed as many blankets to keep warm as possible. His eyes were still heavy, though, and, heaving a sigh, he wondered how long it would be before he had to get up. He had… to go to the market today? Yes, that was it; the horse was lame, though, so he would have to walk and plan ahead enough to bring enough food back.

But that smoke… and something else aside from it, like a deep, earthy scent. Meats and vegetables, maybe? Some sort of stew?

His sister’s name almost came to his lips as a question but he opened his eyes first, and wasn’t met with the usual view of a roof which still needed patching up before the rains came and the beam with tools hung over it with fraying rope—something else he needed more of. The view was instead… stone. Covered with moss and interspersed with parts that sparkled which could have been water or jewels.

“What…?”

There was a rustling from the other side of the room (or cave, he supposed), and a soft noise of metal on rock. “You’re awake?”

Kōki froze when he saw the figure, on his knees next to a fire and doing something with his hands to it. He half-turned his head, but only for a moment before focussing on the fire again. All that Kōki could see of him was that he appeared to be quite short and compact, and had bright hair between pink and red; the kind of colour which was usually only seen on flower petals. That jolted something in his mind; he felt like that should mean something to him, but when he tried to sit up and think clearly he just got a bolt of pain through his head. Crying out, he fell back again and groaned when his head hit the rock a bit harder than what was probably healthy.

“Stay lying down for a bit longer. You hit your head quite hard.”

“I… I…”

It felt like a nightmare when the… _creature_ , who looked no older than him but could have been thousands of years old, met his eyes. The hair, the fact that he was holding a red hot stone in his bare hand, his _eyes_ , as unnatural as his hair, could only mean one thing. “Y-you’re…”

The dragon pressed his lips together and looked at him in distaste. “What’s your name?”

His golden eye was glowing eerily even as his red eye darkened and Kōki forced his body to sit up, pushing back until he was against the wall. “I…” His words dried up again, looking from the dragon to the fire. This was it; he was going to die. All he could hope was that his sister would be able to get by until she found a husband who could provide for her. She was beautiful enough to attract attention, as young as she was.

“Can you say anything but pronouns?”

Kōki opened his mouth, but again nothing intelligible came out. The dragon widened his eyes—unnatural even amongst his kind; dragons usually had both eyes the same colour as their hair—and picked up another stone. Kōki waited for it to strike him. “Apparently not.”

He turned back to the fire, dropped the stones back in, and when he approached had a bowl filled with the scent which had been apart from the smoke. It was a sort of clear broth with various vegetables and meats, which the dragon offered Kōki.

Kōki only watched him warily.

“You must be hungry.” When Kōki didn’t move or answer he sighed and fixed Kōki with a glare which—if his head hadn’t been spinning—would have made him run away as fast as possible. “If I wanted to kill you I would have done so when you were unconscious. It isn’t all that fun when a victim is struggling.” Kōki still didn’t move. “You must be hungry,” he repeated, seeming slightly confused when Kōki remained motionless. Kōki shook his head in protest, but at that moment his stomach rumbled. The dragon huffed, his breath forming coils of condensation in the air before taking Kōki’s hand. The temperature of his skin, several degrees above Kōki’s, made him jolt, and he whimpered when the dragon placed Kōki’s hand on the bowl and pushed it back to him. “You’re hungry,” he said assertively. And he was right, so Kōki ate what was in the bowl, trembling the entire time.

Having watched him for a few moments, the dragon returned to the fire to sit next to it… no, in it, and move the stones around a bit more. “What’s your name?” he repeated once Kōki had finished and placed the bowl next to him, unwilling to move and give it back.

“K-Kōki. Furihata Kōki.”

The dragon nodded and stood up to collect the bowl himself and unconsciously Kōki felt himself leaning slightly to the warmth he radiated; so far away from the fire it was cold enough that he wasn’t just shivering from fear. The dragon noticed his shift in posture. “Come sit in the fire; you’ll be warmer.” Kōki gave him an utterly terrified look and he sighed. “Next to it. I meant next to it.” He turned back to the fire and settled in it again and Kōki reluctantly followed so some of the warmth bathed over him.

“H-how long was I here?”

The dragon, who had had his eyes closed and a contented look on his face, put his head to one side. “A couple of days, I think. You’ve started healing.” His eyes opened and he looked at Kōki curiously. “How long does it take for humans to heal?”

“Heal? A couple of days?”

“Your forehead.”

“My…?” He reached up to touch his forehead and winced at the wound he could feel there. When he touched it, it still sent sparks of pain over his head, but it had to have been a while. “That’s longer than a couple of days,” he said, panicking. How worried would his sister be? Was she still at home, hungry and thirsty and cold?

“I apologise. Dragons have not much need for sleep; it’s difficult to keep track.”

“B-but… I have someone depending on me back home! She… she’s only a child; I have to get back!” He tried to stand up, but too quickly and felt his vision black out and his limbs gain weight. The dragon was by his side in the blink of an eye, taking hold of his elbows carefully and setting him back down.

“Your sister?” he asked calmly.

“Yes! Y…” Kōki stopped talking and looked at him fearfully. “Wh-what… what meat was that in the broth?” A _stupid_ mistake; he should have asked before he’d eaten it, or not eaten it at all.

“Rabbit.” Kōki breathed a sigh of relief and tried to struggle to his feet again, even though the dragon’s warm hands were holding him by his shoulders to halt his progress. “Your sister is fine. She came a few times to check on you.”

“She did?” He was surprised by that; she was more shy and nervous than he was. “How did she know?”

He stopped struggling and the dragon backed up and settled into the fire again (he had started shivering; Kōki supposed he was more sensitive to the cold than humans). “You woke up for a bit after I brought you in and I managed to get you to tell me where you live.”

He didn’t have any recollection of that, and moved slightly closer to the fire. “Th-thank you.”

The dragon inclined his head regally—Kōki hadn’t realised dragons could _be_ regal—and settled slightly more comfortably in the flames. “What’s yours?” he asked, suddenly more confident.

“My what?”

"Your name."

The flames rose for a few minutes, almost veiling his body from view, but Kōki still found his bright eyes through the flames. “Akashi Seijūrō.”

\--------------------

Kōki didn’t expect to see the dragon—Akashi—again. It wasn’t that much of a leap to believe that he would stay in his cave for a few more years (to him feeling like a mere few weeks). When he got out of the cave, finally able to stay on his feet for longer than a few minutes at a time, and returned home his sister said that he had been out for just over two weeks. Kōki shook his head in response. “He told me it was a couple[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#) of days.”

Her smile reached her eyes, crinkling the corners as she went up onto her tiptoes. “It’s because he’s _ancient_. He told me. Thousands and thousands of years old[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#). Dragons age about five years every thousand years. It’s fascinating, isn’t it, onii-chan?”

Kōki tied the saddle bag onto the horse’s saddle; his sister having nursed it back to health whilst he was in absentia before looking back down at her. “Fascinating isn’t really what I’d call it.”

“Whatever do you mean, onii-chan? It’s a species that looks and reacts like humans but is so much more. I wish _I_ was a dragon.” She sulked then, pushing out her lower lip and crossing her arms over her chest. “But I was thinking we could do something to thank Seijūrō-sama. Do you think he would like some apples from my tree?”

Right now, all he could think was that he had to keep his sister away from Akashi. She was too young to understand the danger that dragons posed and understand the rumours that floated around their prefecture’s dragon population; a group of six. Kneeling down in front of her, he took hold of her shoulders to force her to look him in the eye. “Listen, dragons operate on a different level to humans. Human lives mean nothing to them. What Akashi-sama did was because of boredom, most likely, but at any moment he could decide that he doesn’t care for us enough to let us live any longer.” She frowned and looked as if she was about to interject, but Kōki cut her off. “I don’t want you going to see him again, got it?”

“But, onii-chan—”

“I’m being serious. You can never trust a dragon; they’re too unpredictable.”

“But—”

“Aimi, stop being stubborn.”

Her mouth still set in a stubborn line[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#) but she nodded. Kōki knew her enough, though, to suspect that he would get an earful that afternoon when he came back from the village. She was perfectly comfortable to be stubborn around him, after all.

When he had mounted up, she handed him her satchel. “For your lunch. There’s some apples in there too, in case you want to stop at Seijūrō-sama’s cave.”

He put it in the saddle bag before fixing her with a stern look, which she returned as a parody. “Dragons eat humans, Aimi. Not fruit.”

“Seijūrō-sama told me that was vicious rumours.”

“Don’t trust him.”

She huffed and turned to run indoors as Kōki kicked the horse into a trot.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful to Akashi for saving him; but he had to take it for what it was. The dragon had found an unconscious, bleeding and injured boy and probably in his mind weighted up whether it would amuse him for a while to nurse it back to health, all the while keeping the option[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#) of killing him should he become too much of a bother. It was like when his sister would bring in an injured bird; she would feed it with soaked oats and give it water until it could fly again and then forget about it and spare it one thought in a thousand, if the bird was lucky.

He pulled the horse back into a walk and rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. If he was perfectly honest, he _did_ want to see the dragon again, if only to learn a bit more about his kind. Humans were self-destructive, after all.

The horse continued walking contentedly, barely needing any guidance to get to the village. It was a path he had taken almost every day since he’d been backed. Every day was the same, and Kōki liked it that way. Minimal danger, minimal stress and horror and fear. He deserved at least _that_ , he was sure.

The sun was beating down and when he dismounted, bringing the horse to a trough and loosening the girth as it stuck its muzzle into the water. Kōki did his usual errands around the village as quickly as he could, dropping off the apples for a few coins and with them buying his sister’s favourite bread in the hope that she would stay quiet on the subject of Akashi. The nights were drawing in now, much earlier than it had been before the accident and at the last stall, where he was buying rope and having a conversation with the owner, the shadows of the stalls on the other side of the street were almost reaching him. He explained again, as he had with the other stall-owners that knew him, that he’d been ill with a bad cough for the past couple of fortnights, accepted the well-wishes whilst feeling slightly guilty when the owner, an elderly lady who had known his and Aimi’s parents, gave him a jar of honey for free[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#). “I sometimes think it has mystical powers,” she said, smiling mysteriously. “Any time you have a cough, mix a spoonful with some warm milk from your sister’s cow and it will disappear.”

Kōki thanked her and added it to the saddle bag, which was slowly becoming heavier and more difficult for him to carry. Switching it to the other shoulder, he decided to make it a day and make his way back to the horse. As his shoulder was protesting at every move he made, he took a short-cut, only regretting it when it was too late.

And before he knew it a man was standing in front of him, blocking the narrow path with wide shoulders; Kōki was sure they were at least twice as wide as his own. When Kōki stopped and looked over his shoulder the man approached slowly, but with the purposefulness and power that showed he could break into a sprint at any moment. Kōki was a fast runner, but not with a heavy bag on his shoulders with everything he and Aimi needed to _survive_ for the next[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#) week. Aimi had taken from the reserves when he was with Akashi after all, so they were already in trouble for winter.

“You have much in there, little one?”

Kōki’s gaze dropped to his bag and snapped up again as he backed away. “Please… I need this.”

“So do I, little one.”

He stumbled back a few more steps, and as the man was still moving slowly dug his hand in to rifle through it for anything that could be used as a weapon. The rope, maybe? He had never hurt anyone before and almost felt like he could throw up at the prospect, but Aimi _needed_ what was in this bag.

“Please, I’m begging you. I still have some money[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#), just take that.”

The man didn’t pause. If anything, he sped up, and even though it was a stupid reaction Kōki was frozen into place, his heart beating hard enough to shake his entire body and blood rushing oddly through his head and deafening him. So fixated was he on the encroaching figure, he didn’t realise until the man stopped that someone was behind him, but he noticed when the larger man’s eyes fixed over his shoulder. The figure which joined them was in a thick cloak, his head covered by a hood which kept his entire face in shadow. The man’s accomplice?

“I suggest you leave him alone,” the figure said. Kōki’s forehead broke out into a cold sweat and his heart[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#) pounded irregularly. That voice; he would never forget it. So when the figure pushed his hood back and revealed bright, pink-red hair and heterochromatic eyes he only embarrassed himself with a small squeak rather than a full-on screech. The other man, though he hardly spared a glance at him, turned and ran as Kōki was transfixed. It was his eyes, always striking but he’d never seen them like this. He could have sworn flames were trapped within them, burning hard and bright. It terrified Kōki; he was sure that if he allowed himself to look at them long enough he would burn his entire existence.

And now the monster had saved him again.

“Did he hurt you at all, Kōki?”

The moment passed; his eyes dulled back to merely striking, and he frowned when Kōki only opened his mouth but didn’t speak. Repeating his question, his brow furrowing, Kōki shook himself and answered. “N-not at all! He was about to bu… but…” He cleared his throat and brushed his fringe back. “Th-thank you. That’s the second time you’ve saved me.” He coughed again and shifted on his feet when Akashi didn’t answer, fixing him with expressionless eyes that Kōki was pretty sure were defining his worth. “You must be thinking that I get into this trouble a lot.”

“I am wondering how you survived before,” Akashi said dryly and Kōki almost frowned and countered him, but bit his tongue. “How old are you?” he asked curiously.

Kōki blinked. “I’m sixteen.”

He almost whimpered at how Akashi was looking at him, until he shook his head and closed his eyes, muttering something about the flash of an eye.

“Anyway…” Kōki hoisted the bag up again. “I should really be going. Aimi will be waiting.”

“Allow me to walk you back.”

“No!” Although his face was in shadow when he started approaching Kōki, he was still pretty sure that Akashi was surprised by his outburst. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’ve done so much already. I have a horse and I’ve wasted so much of your time already.”

Akashi frowned. “I have thousands of years. A few weeks passes by very quickly [](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#)for me. At least allow me to walk you to your horse.”

Being reminded of just how ancient this creature was didn’t help his nerves, but he nodded and awkwardly moved on, Akashi a couple of steps behind him. He kept on peeking over his shoulder, feeling like he was being stalked against his will when Akashi put his hood back up. When the silence in the imminent darkness became too much for his nerves he asked, “Why do you have such a thick cloak? It’s still quite warm.”

Akashi moved the hood back so that his face wasn’t completely obscured. “I get cold easily. And the hood is convenient; it’s better if people don’t know what I am.”

Kōki slowed to let Akashi catch up, feeling that it might be better for his nerves if the cloaked figure was beside him rather than watching his back. “I suppose it must be annoying when people keep on asking you questions. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

“And thousands of years to do them all in.”

Kōki stopped walking completely when he saw Akashi looking up at the stars, an expression that could only be described as longing on his face[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/86704693166/fantasy-au-pt-2#). “A… ah. I keep on forgetting about that.”

Akashi stopped also and looked over his shoulder. From this angle, he really looked like a creature of ancient mythology, a darkening forest surrounding him, the heavy cloak stirring in the wind and his eyes somehow catching the light from the stars. “Humans can’t understand. Just like dragons don’t understand…” He looked at Kōki curiously and closed the metres of space between them, reaching out to touch his cheek. Even though it was just the softest touch from his fingertips, Kōki could still feel the overwhelming heat. His eyes were candlelight now, flickering in a way that ensnared him. It was fascinating; he couldn’t look away. “To have only lived sixteen journeys around this star but be considered an adult… humans are so fleeting.” His hand dropped, and Kōki tried not to be disappointed by the loss of warmth. “Can you make the rest of the way alone?” he asked. Kōki nodded, feeling dazed by his closeness. Akashi drew his hood down again and left through the trees.

It took a few minutes of staring after him and trembling all over before a developing pain in his shoulder brought him back to the real world and duty. He walked the last half-kilometre quickly and the horse whinnied when he approached, leaning his muzzle onto Kōki’s hip as he attached the saddle bags again and tightened the girth. “Sorry for taking so long.” The horse shook his mane. “I got… distracted.” It didn’t seem like a strong enough word for just how enraptured he had been at Akashi’s words and every movement, but the horse didn’t care for such things anyway. “And neither does Akashi,” he reminded himself under his breath as he mounted and walked on. “Humans are the only ones that are so obsessed by petty emotions. Every other animal is far above them.”

——-

Aimi was waiting at the gate when he arrived home, holding a mug of tea and standing on her tiptoes to—apparently—see clearer. She dashed up to him when she saw him trot out of the forest and down to the field.

“Have you fed the chickens?” he asked as soon as she was within earshot.

“Yes,” she answered impatiently. “Are you alright?”

Kōki frowned at her. “Of course I am. Why?”

“Seijūrō-sama came ahead of you. He said that you’d almost been hurt.”

Kōki paused and looked at her. “Almost. I’m fine.”

“But I know you get scared about these kinds of things happening, onii-chan.”

“I’m fine.” He recognised her stubborn look and cut off what she was about to say. “And now, you’re never to see Akashi again, got it?”

“I think you’re being ridiculous, onii-chan.”

In an effort to distract her (that had been its intended purpose, after all) he took out the bread he’d bought for her and gave a sigh of relief when she smiled at him and pounced on it, although the relief dissipated when she said, “Don’t think that we’ve finished talking about this.”

“Get back in the house.”

——-

Maybe because he’d seen him that day, but that night Kōki couldn’t stop thinking about Akashi. It wasn’t as if there was much to think about; even though Akashi had taken care of him for several weeks he spent most of his days outside of the cave, and the only times they had talked was when he came back and asked Kōki how he was feeling. Kōki spent most of his days in one of the adjoining caves where Akashi kept an impressive collection of books and other memorabilia from his life. The first time Akashi caught him in there he had apologised profusely; he had wondered whether this room was something infinitely precious to him but hadn’t been able to tear himself away from one of the books which had caught his interest, but Akashi hadn’t minded, and afterwards kept the makeshift door to one side and even placed a few books he thought might interest Kōki on shelves which were easier to reach and given him a cloak so he could stay there longer without almost freezing to death. The longest conversation they’d had was on his last day, when Kōki told him that he thought he was ready to go back home.

Akashi had looked at him from his usual seat in the middle of the fire and nodded. “You should be ready.”

“I… I can’t thank you enough for helping me. I don’t know what would have happened to my sister if I hadn’t survived.” He’d stopped talking when Akashi looked at him curiously as he stood up and left the fire. “What?”

“Humans are very odd creatures.”

Kōki laughed awkwardly, wondering whether he should feel offended for his species. “Do you think?”

Akashi hadn’t seemed to catch the slightly sarcastic edge to his words and nodded. “I find them all very odd. Dragons aren’t all that sociable.”

“You’re not close to the other dragons in the prefecture?” At Akashi’s sharp look, Kōki had paled. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sure that—”

“There was a time when we were.”

Kōki had watched him as he passed his hand over the flames, wondering at his expression and stood up. “Anyway… thank you. For everything.”

He’d been shocked—almost to the point of fainting—when Akashi had taken his wrist and squeezed it lightly, partly due to the action, and partly due to the intense warmth. When Akashi let him go he held on, running his thumb over Akashi’s wrist as Akashi watched expressionlessly. It was just so warm. He wanted to curl into it and hold on and almost stepped forwards, closer to the warmth which was just permeating the air around him.

“I’m sorry!” he said when his foot had actually started moving forwards. He pulled back and bowed. “Thank you again.” When he had left the cave he promised himself that he wouldn’t ever return, wouldn’t even spare a thought to the strange creature that had saved him.

Seemed he was breaking promises everywhere.

\--------------------

Humans were an enigma.

The thought settled in Seijūrō’s head as he watched the unconscious boy from the flames. He was moaning slightly in his sleep, furrowing his brow as if he was in pain as Seijūrō brought the flames closer to him. He felt a chill in his bones as soon as he came across the body and it wasn’t going away no matter how close he drew them.

Letting out a sigh which made the flames directly in front of his face flicker and sway, he braced himself and stepped out of the warmth to the frigid coldness of the outside. Pulling the cloak nearer, he knelt down next to the boy and put a hand on his forehead, where he had cut himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but guessed that he had tripped and hit his head on one of the rocks. Having lost a lot of blood (which only proved to Seijūrō the fragility of human life) he was completely unconscious and only reacted with agitated mumbling at Seijūrō’s touch.

He found himself leaning closer, watching him shift and feeling cool breath against his face and taking the boy’s chin to move[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) his head from side to side, freezing when the boy reached to bat his hand away weakly.

“No… not… don’t.”

Not entirely unconscious, then, just delirious. His eyes half opened when Seijūrō leaned closer again. Normal, plain human eyes, though larger than most. Small, brown irises.

“Oh, you… hah.” He moaned and his eyes almost closed again.

“Where do you live?” Seijūrō demanded, keeping hold of his chin.

“I… near the big oak tree on the hill. Wooden house. My… my sister…” he struggled, trying to sit up but only succeeding in rolling onto his side and shivering. “He… help. Help her.”

Seijūrō almost said that he most certainly wouldn’t, but the boy still had his eyes open and even through the delirium and the pain was looking at him imploringly. He sighed and kept him down on the floor[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) by his shoulders. “I will,” he said. It seemed that was all he needed, because his eyes shut and although he was still shivering he wasn’t mumbling anymore.

Trusting, protective. It didn’t help decode the mystery.

After moving him closer to the fire and covering his small body with a cape—trying to ignore the way he curled into the heat of Seijūrō’s body and sighed as if he’d been brought in from the cold—he left the cave, having no reasonable explanation for why he was going so out of his way to help him, to the point that he left out into the cold with his second warmest cape because he’d given the warmest to him.

After having informed his sister—she panicked for a few minutes before Seijūrō promised that no harm would come to him and she could come see him whenever she wanted—his next stop[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) was Shintarō’s.

Frequently referred to as the green dragon given the emerald shade of his hair and eyes, he was the most lenient towards humans given a relationship he’d had a couple[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) of centuries ago with a particular young man and having studied them extensively since. As Seijūrō entered he looked up from a book and frowned. “Akashi.”

“Yes?”

“It’s been a while.”

Seijūrō smiled politely. “Not very long. A couple of decades, maybe.”

“What do you need?”

As brusque and to-the-point as he had ever been. His constancy reassured Seijūrō. “Your help. I recently rescued a boy after he was injured but I am not entirely certain how to be sure that he is not too damaged.”

“Why, do you plan on feasting on him?” His eyes narrowed until Seijūrō could feel a chill in the air and brought his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

“Of course not.” Shintarō had made them all promise, when all the dragons from this prefecture were still close, that they wouldn’t feast on humans anymore. It had been a few months after his loved one’s death when he was still in the height of his grief. “He is hurt. I wish to help him.”

“You never wish to help anyone but yourself.”

Shintarō looked away when Seijūrō fixed him with a cold glare. “Perhaps I’ve reformed.”

Shintarō scoffed before apologising. “I’ll be right behind you.” Seijūrō waited in the outskirts of the fire—it was rude to enter one if the dragon who made it hadn’t expressly invited one in—as Shintarō gathered various implements and tucked them into his own, thicker cloak. “Why this boy?”

“He’s hurt,” Seijūrō said bluntly.

“You’ve seen hurt humans before, and it hasn’t stopped you from walking by.” He seemed rather bitter, to which Seijūrō sighed. It hadn’t been _him_ , after all, who had walked past his loved one, so he wasn’t entirely sure why Shintarō was acting as if he was angry towards _him_.

“He has a child depending on him.”

Shintarō waited at the entrance of his cave until Seijūrō joined him. “That’s never been an issue either.”

Seijūrō pressed his lips together and refrained from answering. He didn’t want to say that it was because he’d noticed this particular boy several times and been rather… curious. He reminded him of Tetsuya, in a way, hiding out in plain sight as he hurriedly performed his chores and making himself smaller in an effort to be noticed even less. To begin with, he’d wondered whether he had dragon blood to boast of, same as Tetsuya. “Are you going to help him or not?”

“Of course.”

Seijūrō’s cave wasn’t far from Shintarō’s—Seijūrō wondered that they didn’t see each other more often—and he moved quicker than he usually would in public. Shintarō kept pace with him, his shoulders hunched forwards and glaring at the ground as if it had personally offended him. Seijūrō almost asked what was wrong but bit his tongue just in time; Shintarō hadn’t been out often since his loved one had died and bringing anything up about his bad temper was sure to bring back memories best forgotten. He followed Seijūrō down the steps[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) to where he had placed the boy, who was under the thickest cloak Seijūrō owned but still shivering. Seijūrō went to stand in the outskirts of the flames, coaxing them to strengthen and warm the environment as Shintarō checked the boy’s pulse and the wound on his head. “Small fracture in his skull,” he said under his breath. Seijūrō shot an alarmed look over his shoulder; it seemed _serious_ , but Shintarō only placed his palm[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) on the boy’s forehead and after it glowed for a bit, causing the boy to furrow his brows and wrinkle his nose before Shintarō said, “That’s fixed.”

“That’s new.”

Shintarō looked up at him. “You already knew there were different ways to harness the powers we have. Neither of us are anything like the others.”

“Of course I knew. But the last time I saw you you couldn’t heal like that.”

“He’s got a fever. Just try to get him to drink some water and keep him warm; his body will fight off the infection soon enough. When he wakes up make some sort of food that has white willow bark in it.” He stood up and started to leave, before pausing and looking back to Seijūrō, where he had settled in the flames to watch over the boy. “You’re not in any danger, right, Akashi?”

“What kind of danger?”

“The danger of becoming a little… too fond of him.”

Shintarō’s eyes were haunted when Seijūrō regarded him. They had been for a long time, but for some reason Seijūrō could see it more clearly now. He was empty after having lost[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/87237866078/fantasy-au-pt-3#) his loved one, even after so many years. “Not at all. I’m merely helping a creature that needed help. I’ll forget him just as soon as he’s better.”

Shintarō didn’t look entirely convinced.


	27. MayuAka

Of Seductions and Deductions

“I want you.”

The first thing that ran through Chihiro’s mind when he heard Akashi say those words was that he _really_ needed a few early nights. No more staying up until two or three to read more and hiding his fatigue with copious, and probably dangerous, amounts of caffeine and cigarettes. The hallucinations were not worth it, no matter the need he had to finish his novels.

“What did you just say? I think I misheard.”

Akashi delicately settled next to him (wait, _delicately_? That kid was so weird) and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You’ve been doing as I said and practicing your observational skills, haven’t you, _senpai_?”

If the way he said ‘ _senpai_ ’ in a husky voice hadn’t been enough to prove that he had in fact said what Chihiro thought he had… still. He placed his book onto his leg, watched as Akashi’s eyes followed his movement. “No, I really think I should be sure.”

“I want you.”

Whether the universe was playing some trick on him or he had read one too many light romances, he couldn’t stop the shudder of horror at the thought. “What… for?” he asked, hoping that it was anything but what he _thought_ it was.

He tried to imagine that he wasn’t struck by fear when Akashi narrowed his eyes, but then again he didn’t really enjoy lying to himself. “What does it usually mean when someone says ‘ _I want you_ ’?”

“Something that you’re too young to know about.” Which he regretted saying as soon as he saw the way Akashi’s eyes flashed and his jaw clenched.

“I am perfectly well-versed in such things,” he said, in such a pompous way that Chihiro only sighed. “I’m not a _virgin_ , Chihiro.”

Chihiro bit back a laugh whilst wondering which poor girl or boy he’d roped into doing such things before shaking his head. _Nothing_ , even the threat on his life which Akashi was obviously communicating those creepy-ass eyes, could convince him that this was even _half_ of a good idea. “How about you worry about your side, I’ll worry about mine and we don’t add any complications like some sort of half-assed relationship? You know I’m leaving for university after this year.”

“ _Relationship_? Who said anything about that?”

Some sort of trick question? His leg burned where he could feel the weight of the book resting against it and his fingers itched to pick it up again. Was he trying to test his observational skills? That seemed a bit too obvious. “You did. You just said that you _wanted_ me.”

“I do.”

He waited for a continuing explanation, but none came. His eyes were unreadable. Akashi wasn’t easy to decipher. “So, what…?”

Akashi sighed and looked away for a moment, a light—no _way_ , he’d never seen that before—blush colouring his cheekbones. “It appears I am only human after all,” he said grudgingly. Chihiro watched as the blush disappeared, wondering whether it was just the fact that he was _human_ was what he had been so embarrassed about, rather than his proposition. “And I have urges just like anyone else. I chose you precisely because you’re leaving next year.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I need an outlet. And you will do quite nicely.”

An _outlet_. Not for the first time, Chihiro wondered whether he was being completely used by his captain. Maybe they all were just pawns in his game and no real feeling resided within the king as he thoughtlessly sent them out to slaughter. “I don’t have to agree to this,” he said.

“It won’t just be me benefitting. I assure you, I am perfectly capable in helping you with such problems. This will be a symbiotic arrangement.”

“Hey, I can get sex if I want it. With girls, which is more my speed.” He picked up the book, blanking out Akashi as best he could in an attempt to end the conversation.

“I can dress like a girl if that will help.”

The book dropped from Chihiro’s hand, landing cover down as the pages flipped in a sudden breeze. “Did you really just say that?”

“I think you need to practice your observational skills more.” Although it was said rather seriously, there was a small quirk at the corner of his mouth and a softening in his eyes. Sarcasm? He hadn’t known Akashi was _capable_ of such a thing.

“You wouldn’t find it humiliating?” Akashi smiled wider. “Not that I’m thinking about it.”

“No. Why would I? The end result is the same, isn’t it?”

“The _end_ …? No, you know what, don’t answer that.”

“I think you’re already aware.”

“Akashi.”

This rooftop had been a lot more calm before Akashi had joined Rakuzan, and, endeavouring to distract himself from the fact that Akashi was moving closer he pondered over the quiet lunchtimes he’d spent here before and how as he’d entered his third and final year he had mused about how he would honestly miss these lunchtimes. Alone. By himself. He hadn’t expected to bid farewell to them so soon.

“You can come back to mine after practice tonight and we can try. My father is away and I sent the help away too specifically so we would have privacy.”

“I haven’t agreed to it, Akashi.” He picked up the book again, flicked through it to find the right page and started reading, before a small hand pulled it down so it was resting on his leg again.

“You will.”

Nerves coiled in his stomach—Akashi had gotten closer than he’d thought. And in the months that Chihiro had known him, he’d never been proved wrong about anything. He’d seen the test scores, his calculations during a game; never had anything been less than perfect, and never had a deduction proved to be wrong.

 _Is he_ really _human?_ Chihiro asked himself. _Or some kind of demon?_ And even if he _was_ a demon, surely _he_ didn’t have to be some pseudo-heroine in a crappy, twisted, supernatural love story? He’d always wanted to be the main hero who defeated some great evil and gained something in return; some power and glory, maybe some hot girl. There was a reason he remained the aloof, silent guy in the background—they were always the ones that rose to the challenge, managed to destroy all those who had talked badly of them and had hidden powers crucial to the tests they would face. And no matter how highly Akashi talked of it, misdirection did _not_ count.

“You’re tempted, aren’t you?” Akashi said.

Except for the fact that he was currently staring intently at Akashi’s lips and may have been leaning forwards the slightest bit, and possibly a slight increase in heart rate and breathing rate had occurred, he could honestly say that he was not affected or tempted in any way. He told Akashi as such, ignored the burning look and shifted away.

“You’re not the easiest to predict, I’ll grant you that, but I am still always right and always absolute.”

“You need a reality check,” Chihiro said under his breath, considering lifting the book to block Akashi’s gaze. No; that would be too noticeable—too obvious that he was trying to shield himself from Akashi’s eyes, which would only invite more certainty. And more certainty was not useful right now.

“Obviously I won’t force you, but you will come to me of your own accord.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Perfect. The perfect mixture of someone nonchalant and unmoved. He stole a glance in Akashi’s direction and saw the childish way his eyes flashed and his jaw clenched and felt the urge to run his fingers along his jawline just to tease him.

All heroes had a sadistic side to them, after all. Otherwise they wouldn’t defeat the evil but weakly try to bring it to their own side by showing compassion and love. For anyone else, he could have maybe shown that, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that in _his_ story, Akashi was the demon.

“You’re not _scared_ , are you, Chihiro?”

Definitely a demon’s voice. Silky smooth and alluring, and he reached up to brush a few strands of his hair back whilst watching Chihiro. He settled into an easy smile when Chihiro kept his eyes on his hand as it went to rest on his lap again. “I’m not scared. Just annoyed.”

Akashi sighed. “It seems I overestimated you. How much longer will you be resisting? I was hoping to vent my frustrations tonight.”

“I’m not scared, and I’m not in the least bit tempted.” Heat rose to his cheeks as Akashi looked him over.

“Prove it, then,” he said confidently.

“I am. Now go away.”

He was pretty sure he was going to be paying for that comment later, but for now Akashi ignored it. “Kiss me and prove this won’t be beneficial to you too.”

Though not entirely sure what the logic behind that reasoning was, his eyes were still caught by Akashi’s lips. Maybe this was it; the demon he had to slay before he could continue on his own journey. Maybe he would gain something from this which would allow him to defeat a bigger demon further down the line. Then it was power, glory, and the hot girl. Simple wishes. So he leaned forwards obediently, his eyes shutting tightly so he could at least pretend that it was his future hot girl that he was kissing and not arguably the creepiest and most infuriating guy he’d met in his entire life.

(Although, to be fair, it was tantalizing to see whether he could pull Akashi apart seam by seam and have the power of knowing he could undo him and see him raw and unfiltered. To have such power over someone who was fire and water and lightening, a tightly coiled spring ready to be unleashed, to turn him to nothing more than shattered porcelain. It was a temptation that could overtake him if he let it.)

He’d meant for a quick kiss, brief and normal enough that it could disprove Akashi’s theories, but before he could pull away Akashi pushed his body back against the wall, and Chihiro couldn’t even muster the strength to lift his arms to push him away, let alone straighten himself. Instead he was gripping at the fabric of Akashi’s jacket tightly, only able to kiss back or struggle futilely when Akashi tugged at his hair—how did _he_ know that Chihiro liked that so much?—and scratched at his scalp, which sent goosebumps over his arms and the nape of his neck. And from the self-satisfied little sigh that he gave when, after biting his lip—gently, but still enough to make Chihiro shiver—he pulled away, he knew _exactly_ what he’d been doing, knew exactly how to play it and what to look for.

Chihiro hated to admit it, but it seemed the kid was more experienced than he was.

“I suppose you’re right. You won’t do.”

Chihiro, whose mind had suddenly been filled with visions of Akashi with a lust-filled gaze and repeats of kisses that could rival that one, shook his head to clear it as Akashi stood up. “What? After that?”

Akashi looked at him scathingly. “You can’t honestly think that was good. I suppose we don’t have enough chemistry to make it worth it. I’ll find someone else, and you can vent your frustrations on one of those girls who are so willing.”

The girl he envisioned had red hair, creepy heterochrome eyes and looked suspiciously like the boy who was currently straightening his clothes standing in front of Chihiro. “You’re leaving?”

Akashi inclined his head politely. “I apologise for taking up so much of your time, Mayuzumi-senpai. I’ll leave you to finish your novel,” he said, cool and business-like. It took a moment of Chihiro sorting through things in his head—he still felt a bit woozy from the kiss, possibly having forgotten how to breathe—before he got up, letting the novel fall to the ground and catching Akashi’s arm to turn him. His eyes widened—was he really shocked that Chihiro wanted to stop him? Surely his kiss hadn’t been that bad?—and he let Chihiro push him back against the wall, watching him curiously.

“You can’t honestly think… after what… everything…” The smirk on Akashi’s face was too much, and his inability to form a coherent sentence was only humiliating him, so instead he was the one to initiate the kiss. The world started being clearer again as Akashi’s pulse raced; Chihiro could feel his heart beat against his palm as he kept Akashi pushed back against the wall. When he pulled back, his cheeks were dark and his eyes bright, but he still gave Chihiro a victorious smile.

“I was right, of course. You came to me of your own accord. Quicker than I’d expected, but still…” He leant back against the wall.

He was an idiot; playing right into Akashi’s hand and walking the exact route plotted. Not hero material after all, just a pawn in Akashi’s absolute plan. He let Akashi push his hand out of the way to leave. “You’re coming over tonight, then?”

Heart somehow sinking and in his throat at the same time, Chihiro nodded. Akashi had been morphed into a black hole, sucking all light and hope within himself and compressing it until it barely existed. He’d given the last piece of his soul to the demon to do with as he wished, to _use_ as he wished. He’d be nothing more than a pet or a pitiful side-character for the rest of his life, nothing more than a hollow shell when Akashi was done with him, but when Akashi turned he nodded again.

“Good.” One last kiss, shorter than the other two, initiated by Akashi. But it breathed a small amount of life into the hope that remained when Akashi trembled in his arms and at his touch made a small sound, almost a whimper.

Maybe he’d be able to undo him, he thought as Akashi walked away. Enough to find his core and exploit it before Akashi exploited him.

 


	28. NijiFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by moirakoro on tumblr

Of course— _of course_ —he wanted to be alone with Furihata. Shūzō didn’t know what it was about that boy, maybe his wide-eyed innocence, the innocent way his hair fell into those eyes, the shape of his jaw which was ever-so-slightly feminine in its innocence… usually, when one saw the other people he had been interested in, the one main feature they had was beauty, but with Furihata... Shūzō groaned and buried his face in his forearms. Furihata was almost erotic in his innocence. And that never boded well.

The thunder crashed again and Shūzō, not entirely sure whether, when the lights had gone out and they were sheltering together in a _thunderstorm_ (what could be more romantic than that? Furihata had even found some _candles_ ), he would be able to stop himself from doing regrettable things. He looked Furihata’s way.

Almost didn’t recognise him, in fact. He was currently cowering in a ball on the floor, his jacket over his head.

“Furihata?” he asked in shock.

“U-um, yeah?” His voice quivered.

“Are you scared of thunder?”

Big eyes peeked up at him from under a fringe and—dear _lord_ did he even know what he was _doing_?—he shook his head firmly. “O-of course not. That would be ridiculous, Nijimura-san. I’m seventeen, not—” The thunder rolled again and he squeaked, his head shooting back inside the safety of his jacket. “I’m not scared, I’m not scared,” he repeated, as numerous possibilities ran through Shūzō’s head as to how would be the best way to distract him.

But that wasn’t what he needed right now. Already knowing he was too far gone, he settled on his knees next to Furihata, who shifted inside his jacket so he could look at Shūzō. “It’s fine to be scared,” he said in the most soothing voice he could. It didn’t come naturally to him, this whole soothing and being especially nice thing, but Furihata still gave him a small, wan smile which made Shūzō’s heart clench.

“No, it’s ridiculous,” he said, his voice still quivering. “My little sister is six and she’s not scared. She loves thunder, in fact. Nothing can convince her not to go out in it.”

Shūzō smiled at that, the thought of a little girl who resembled Furihata bouncing in the puddles and shouting in excitement, and somehow in his mind it transformed to his and Furihata’s daughter, and they’d been married for several years and every day he would wake up to Furihata in his arms and he would _know_ how to help him when he was scared. “There’s always something.”

“What are you scared of?” He seemed rather startled when Shūzō blanched. “You don’t have to answer that! I’m sorry, Nijimura-san.” When the lightening cracked the sky in two and the thunder followed less than a second after, his lip quivered and he burrowed into his jacket. From the way he was shaking, Shūzō was pretty sure he was sobbing.

“Furihata…” There was literally nothing he could say. He wasn’t a great speaker; he didn’t help with confidence but rather with riling up teammates. For the first time, he regretted his decision to ever have accepted to be the captain of Teikō, because that wasn’t what Furihata needed right now. So instead, he put his arms around the smaller, quivering body and pulled him closer, rubbing circles into his back.

Until he squirmed away. Shūzō, rather hurt, frowned at him.

“Your clothes are wet,” Furihata explained. “I’ll get cold.”

His lower lip was still shaking and tears hung on his lashes until he blinked them away.

“I can always take my clothes off,” Shūzō said, half-seriously and half-longingly.

Furihata frowned. “But then you’ll be cold.”

He had _completely_ missed Shūzō’s point, but the innocence of that remark almost made it worth it.

 


	29. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by navyblueraven on tumblr

Considering Tetsuya’s urging that he take this job once he told his father he no longer wanted anything to do with the company, Seijūrō was rather certain that he could place the blame for his current predicament entirely on his narrow shoulders.

Because (after having slept with him two weeks ago and neither of them having mentioned it since in the slightest), what he had planned to do that morning was go to work, start sorting out the cards to be placed on bouquets to be delivered, and then tell Kōki how he felt about him. Namely; he was completely in love with the outstandingly normal boy.

But here he was, unable to do anything more than listen as Kōki said, “I’ve been offered a job in England. The landscapers I worked with the last time I was there. It’s… it’s the place to be, really, for gardening and such.” He switched off the light and his face was in darkness. “I figured, what with our… well, you know—” he shifted nervously in his feet, even more so when Seijūrō approached. “What with what happened between us, I figured you should be the first to know.”

Seijūrō switched the light back on, revealing Kōki’s blushing face and the way his eyes darted restlessly, everywhere but Seijūrō until he grasped Kōki’s chin. “How long have you known?” he asked. Kōki swallowed and leant forward minutely.

“It’s been up in the air for a few months now.”

He seemed almost ready to protest when Seijūrō let go of him and backed away. “When are you leaving?”

From the way he looked at him sadly and darted to one of the vases to aimlessly move some flowers about, Seijūrō knew it was a bad question to ask.

“I-in the morning.”

Bad news, then. Too late to stop him, too late to tell him. “And you didn’t think it worth telling me because…?”

Kōki’s eyes narrowed furiously. “Because you didn’t think it worth talking to me about what happened between us. You avoided it like the plague. I figured I wasn’t leaving behind anything important.”

He hid behind the flowers and another meaningless task, moving vases from one end of the wooden table to the other when Seijūrō crossed his arms and leant back against the wall, faking a casual smile. “Not even your business?”

“I’ve hired a manager. I’ll come back every half-year or so to check on things.”

Every half-year. So maybe a hundred fleeting glances of him left in life. Life was so short; sometimes Seijūrō thought that humans barely outlived the flowers[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/89801961678/akafuri-i-mean-come-on-i-know-you-want-to#) he tended.

“But…” Kōki approached him nervously, tapping his fingers intermittently against his thigh and his step having the oddly lilting beat that it did when he was unsure. “This is probably a really stupid thing to propose…” His eyes were fixed on Seijūrō’s lips, and he licked his own before biting down on the lower one. “You know what, it is a really stupid idea. No good can come out of it—” He froze when Seijūrō caught his head to hold it still; it had been shaking as he closed his eyes and his hair had brushed against his forehead as Seijūrō had remembered how it felt to have the strands against his own forehead. His skin was warm against Seijūrō’s hands—not surprising with the amount he was blushing—and he made a small, desperate sound when Seijūrō kissed him, deepening it as much as he could immediately and pressing his thigh in between Kōki’s legs until he gasped and trembled and clutched at his clothes frantically. After being proposed with the idea of having to miss so much, he wanted to take all he could in the moments he had left.

——-

Kōki kissed him to waken him the next morning at maybe just before five. The predawn light was revealing the red in his hair, the gold flecks in his eyes and danced across his skin light-heartedly, mocking Seijūrō. The same sun would remain on his skin, the same air would brush over him, but Seijūrō wouldn’t have any of it. Primal, uncaring forces could have all they wanted and Seijūrō, nothing.

“I’m leaving now,” he said, his eyes hooded and dark when Seijūrō brought their foreheads together, tracing over the shape of his lips before kissing them lightly. He felt like reaching out when Kōki left, his eyes bright as he said that it was the perfect way to say goodbye, but kept his hands under the covers, instead pulling them up over his head and vowing that he would never leave the comfort and safety of them.

——-

Finally (a good twelve hours later), he did leave, his first stop being Tetsuya’s bar.

“You owe me, Tetsuya.”

Kuroko’s eyes were the same colour as the pre-dawn sky and he seemed concerned enough when Seijūrō covered his face with his hands that he placed a drink in front of him. “The drink is on me, Akashi-kun,” he said. “I… I suppose Furihata-kun has left?”

“This morning,” Seijūrō said, trying to keep his tone at least partly normal and not entirely morose. He traced the edge of the glass before downing it in one and sliding it across the bar back into Tetsuya’s hands. “And it’s all your fault.”

“I don’t know how you came up with that, Akashi-kun,” he said. Kagami, the ever protective presence, glared at him from the other end of the bar where he was pulling pints for the other misfits who had nowhere else to go at four in the afternoon on a Thursday.

“You’re the one who told me to work with him. _You_ should have warned me that Kōki’s an angel.”

Tetsuya handed him another drink, warning him to drink it slower that time. “I was never under the impression that you would be romantically attached to him, Akashi-kun, but I rather think it was your fault.”

After glaring at him, he downed that drink also, feeling it numb him slightly. “And where do you come to that idea? We slept together again last night.” He frowned. “I probably should have kept that to myself.”

Tetsuya sighed when the glass Seijūrō sent back in his general direction in fact missed him by a metre and shattered on the floor. “Yes, probably. But, Akashi-kun, you’re the one who didn’t talk to him after the other time you slept with him. You had a chance, probably to make him change his mind about England if he thought you’d be worth it. But you didn’t.” He ducked behind the bar to clean up the broken glass and reappeared a few moments later as Seijūrō was tracing over the grain of the wood on the bar. “So don’t place the blame where it doesn’t belong,” he continued, passing a glass of water to him. “Drink a few glasses[](http://akashispanties.co.vu/post/89801961678/akafuri-i-mean-come-on-i-know-you-want-to#) of water so you don’t get too much of a headache tomorrow. I know how bad you are with hangovers.”

“So what do I do, Tetsuya?”

Kagami scoffed before finishing pulling yet another pint and making his way over to his husband and Seijūrō. “Even _I_ know the answer to that, Akashi.”

He could forgive himself for being outwitted by an idiot when his own acuity was compromised, so he looked at Kagami expectantly. “You have to go to England,” he said, before turning to Tetsuya. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Romantically, you are never far off the mark, Taiga,” Tetsuya said fondly, taking his hand. “He’s right, Akashi-kun. You have to go to England.”

——-

He had been to England several times before in his life, so he was prepared for the colder temperatures and the overcast sky subsequent to having left a much brighter, warmer Japan. After calling for a taxi and asking to be taken to Kōki’s new address which he had found in some of the paperwork he had left, he closed his eyes and leant his head back. Whether or not Tetsuya and Kagami had been right in their reasoning, he was here, about to lay his heart bare and vulnerable. The taxi stopped outside a compact house just outside the outskirts of the town, at the end of a cul de sac. The front garden was not yet to Kōki’s taste, he could tell, and the path needed de-weeding as some of the hedges needed trimming. There were still cardboard boxes visible through the window of the front room, and the forest behind the house was starting to encroach into the back garden. After paying the taxi driver and taking out the two bags he’d brought, he made his way up the path, double-checked the address before ringing the doorbell.

The door took a few, heart-wrenching moments before it opened and Kōki gasped, dropping a small box he had been carrying under his arm. “ _Sei_ ,” he breathed, blinking rapidly and running his fingers through his hair. “You… what are you doing here?”

“You can send me away if you want,” he said. Kōki shook his head. “But I want to be with you, Kōki. I was an idiot to try to ignore what happened between us, and the only excuse I have is that I was scared.” He moved closer so that he was just outside the threshold of the door. “But if you’ll allow me I’ll spend my life trying to make it up to you.”

“Oh,” Kōki said softly, leaning weakly against the door. “Sei… of course. You… you sap.” He covered his face with his hands and laughed until Seijūrō kissed his forehead. One of the rare instances, then, when Kagami hit the nail right on the head.


	30. AkaFuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a generally accepted thing on the internet that there aren’t enough lesbians, right? So anyway, have some random genderbent AkaFuri.

Kiku asking her girlfriend for help in choosing clothes for the various formal events they were invited to was more of a last-resort thing. First resorts included asking Momoi and Riko, even Kise had good knowledge of what would look good on someone who was relatively curvy with a normal palette. She led Seijūrō by the hand swiftly to the evening dresses before stopping and shaking her head, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout when Seijūrō looked at her with an eyebrow cocked. “I walk in here and I feel my good mood disappearing,” she explained. Seijūrō was lucky; she had enough money and a perfect enough, enviable figure that everything looked good on her. Kiku, though not awfully poor and not too bad-looking, still had to be careful. Especially as her money was running out for this month. She chewed the inside of her cheek, running calculations in her head until Seijūrō caught her chin.

“I told you, I’m buying you this dress. So don’t worry about anything.”

“I can afford it,” Kiku said stubbornly.

“I know,” Seijūrō said insistently. “But it’s my fault you have to get so many.” Kiku blushed when Seijūrō kissed her (still rather unaccustomed to being so open; they’d kept it a secret for long enough).

“Fine.” Looking around the (menacing) shop floor, she tucked her hair behind her ears. This was serious business. The dresses appeared to be arranged in colour, which was as good a place as any to start. “What colour?”

Seijūrō was still watching her, a gentle enough expression on her face that Kiku shifted before glowering at her. “What?”

“Red,” she said decisively, lifting one side of the red cashmere scarf (it had been bought the last time Seijūrō had been to London for a business trip) draped around Kiku’s neck and holding it against her cheek. Kiku, pretty sure her own face was that colour, stepped away and went to the side which had various red dresses. She could trust Seijūrō’s judgement, right? She could. Seijūrō was a good girlfriend in every other matter. Maybe in the week she’d been away she’d… matured? No, that wasn’t the right word. More along the lines of… gotten out of the honeymoon period stage of their relationship. Then they could go on and be normal instead of Kiku having to keep an eye on her girlfriend’s expression whenever they were in public.

She felt a hanger on her shoulder and some fabric hanging against her body and twisted to look at it. Maybe it would be over this quickly? Maybe this _entire_ horror story would be over, she would have found the perfect simple dress that she could wear every time and just accessorise differently, then she and Seijūrō could return home and watch a film or whatever. Maybe…

No.

Still the same.

She looked in horror at the dress, then at Seijūrō’s longing expression. “Where’s the rest of it?” she yelped. No _way_ was she going out in such a miniscule scrap of fabric. Why on earth make a dress low-cut, backless, _and_ barely able to cover her underwear?

“It’s perfect,” Seijūrō insisted.

“How does it stay _up_?”

“It’s a miraculous piece of engineering.”

“I’m not wearing that, Seijūrō.”

Seijūrō finally met her eyes. “Well, obviously not to the event. But you could wear it at home. I’m paying anyway.” Kiku, in response, shoved it back towards her. She blinked. “I suppose I could wear it too. We’re pretty much the same size.”

Well, _that_ was tempting… no. Kiku shook her head to rid it of the image. “What about this one?” She held up another against her body, _not_ backless, _not_ low enough to reveal her breasts with one false move, and knee-length. Seijūrō smirked and nodded, draping it over her arm with the other one. “Sei, I’m not wearing that.”

“Kiku.”

“No, Sei—”

“Kiku.” When Kiku repeatedly shook her head stubbornly Seijūrō took hold of her face. “Kiku,” she said again. “At least try it on.”

“You’re such a pervert.” Seijūrō, satisfied, let go and held out another possibility.


	31. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have suddenly fallen in love with mute!Koki and I can't get back up.

Learning what Kōki meant by just his expressions took some time, even though he had always been one of the most expressive people Seijūrō had known. There was a certain furrowing to his brow when he was angry compared to when he was confused. The difference between his forced smile and real smile was in his shoulders, the way they tensed when he was faking it. He was evasive when his hands moved quicker with a jerky motion from task to task. Fear was easy to identify too, but Seijūrō tried to fix that as quickly as he could; since the incident even when Kōki jumped because of a loud noise and then went on, Seijūrō found himself stuck back in that night when he’d been by his bedside, hating anyone that could _think_ of hurting him and begging him to open his eyes.

But now, when a few months had gone by and there had been no hint that he would talk again, Kōki had done other things to fill his silence, putting on his favourite music (which was all very awful) and his favourite films in the background (again, terrible. The boy had horrible taste). Seijūrō wondered often whether he did it on purpose, when every time his expression would change because he was coming home to yet another American pop band and Kōki would shoot a triumphant little smile in his direction. This was one of those incidences, and Seijūrō stopped walking halfway into the kitchen, glowered at him a bit as Kōki widened his eyes innocently. “You are doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Kōki bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, but wasn’t able to hide the small smile. Seijūrō kissed the side of his head, listening to the little sigh he gave when he leant back against him.

“How was your day?” Kōki smiled and nodded, turning back to the stove before passing Seijūrō a knife and some carrots and giving him a questioning look. “Mine was… long.” A sympathetic look. “Although I did find out something interesting. And terrifying,” he added under his breath. “Kuroko and Mayuzumi-san have been in a relationship for over a year now.”

Kōki gave him a wide-eyed look, his head to one side and his hand stilled. “I know. Only _they_ would be able to pull off something like that. But Kuroko’s already dangerous enough on his own.” That Kōki didn’t believe him was obvious; he brought the pot to where Seijūrō was finishing chopping the carrots with a sarcastic look on his face and prodded his side gently. “You don’t believe me? Kuroko can get away with anything because he looks innocent and his low presence. You know he’s shoplifted before?” Kōki froze and his expression was horrified as he shook his head. “So with Mayuzumi-san, who’s already quite a bad influence… we should probably start locking our doors a bit more securely.” Seijūrō sighed as Kōki bit his lip and laughed.

Although it was short and rather quiet, it had been so long—before the attack in fact—since Seijūrō had heard his laugh that his breath caught and he could only stare at Kōki, who blushed and turned back to the stove to put the pot back on, his hands shaking. He expected Kōki to push him away when he approached, so when he didn’t Seijūrō made the most of it, kissing his neck and brushing the tips of his fingers lightly over where his clothes hid the scars until Kōki elbowed him gently in the chest and huffed impatiently.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful your laugh was,” he said, if only to see him blush again and turn away to hide his face behind his hands.


	32. KagaKuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr.

Although their relationship had progressed from a friendship to a strong romantic attachment it had still taken longer before Kuroko allowed Kagami to enter the library with him. According to him, Kagami was 'too obstreperous', 'too elephantine' and 'too boisterous' (only one of which he knew the definition, but he still objected passionately, which apparently only 'proved his point'), so when Kuroko looked up at him in a pondering way as he was eating a burger Kagami had tossed to him and asked the elusive question; "Would you come to the library with me, Taiga-kun?" Kagami choked on his own burger. 

Kuroko's first move, which offended Kagami a bit, was to pull his milkshake closer as if Kagami would dive for it and watch him patiently until he could breathe again. 

"The library?"

"Yes, Taiga-kun."

"You're allowing me in the library?"

He sipped at his milkshake as he regarded Kagami calmly. "As long as you watch where you step I am sure you will be perfectly fine." He then smiled gently, which he knew very well Kagami had trouble refusing. 

"But I'm not clumsy."

"I bed to differ, Taiga-kun. As would that bookcase in my room that ended up on the floor."

"I told you that was Nigou didn't I?" He tried to make his sentiments known by taking a particularly angry bite out of his burger. "And I tidied it up afterwards."

"Nigou would never do such a thing. He's just a puppy."

This fixation he had on the puppy _remaining_ a puppy was like a mother refusing to realise her child had grown up. "He's more than a year old now! When he stands on his back legs he's bigger than you!"

Kuroko placed his cup down carefully, looked at Kagami and said, "Do you really want to insult my height right now in the position that you're in?"

"The position that I'm...?" A foot nudged against his thigh and he dropped his gaze to see that somehow Kuroko had placed his foot in between his legs on the seat, all without Kagami noticing. He backed up on the seat as much as he could and nervously looked at Kuroko. "How did you even manage that?"

\-----

The library at Seirin, being entirely new and state-of-the-art, must be one of Kuroko's favourite places to be, Kagami noted when his boyfriend's face lit up when they approached, and he couldn't help but feel privileged that Kuroko had finally invited him (he had been in alone, of course, but for a long time Kuroko had stubbornly insisted that he go alone). 

Kuroko immediately situated himself in the natural sciences section, scanning the shelves above him before turning to Kagami and saying, "Could you please fetch that blue book down for me, Taiga-kun?" Kagami shrugged and reached up to take it from the shelf, following uncertainly with it still in his hands as Kuroko led him around to a few more shelves. Once he'd picked up about four books, and Kuroko had placed a couple that he could reach into his arms, he dropped them on a table. 

"Is this why you invited me? So I could get the books too high for you and then carry them like some kind of mule?"

Although Kuroko blinked up at him innocently he didn't object. 

"Dammit Tetsuya!"

He pointed up to another shelf. "The green one, please?"

Kagami crossed his arms and glared at Kuroko, who was unruffled. "No."

"I'll be at your apartment tomorrow wearing nothing but an apron."

Dammit. 

Kagami took a breath, looked Kuroko over as he leaned against the bookshelf. "This one?" he asked, taking the book down, adding it to the pile and gathering them in his arms again. 

"Yes, Taiga-kun."


	33. AkaFuri

Kōki considered himself being in the library to be of the same difficulty as an alcoholic working behind a bar. Being so addicted to books, after all, could lead to the same kind of disruption in his life. He’d already failed a couple of tests due to staying up too late to finish a book which had just come out and most of his money went directly into books; he’d already started hiding his purchases from his parents.

And even now, when he was putting away books which had just been returned by students, the temptation to stop and read was almost overwhelming. He’d taken to refusing to let himself read the titles, or trying to kid himself that he couldn’t actually _read_ Japanese, but sometimes couldn’t resist a little skim through or placing it in a difficult-to-access area so he could retrieve it at the end of the day and not risk it being taken by someone else.

A quick scan around him before he flicked through the book he was putting back on the Meiji era, and he got a chair to place it on top of a bookcase. He dusted off his hands as he hopped down.

“I saw that.”

He almost shrieked— _almost—_ but dropped the two other books he had been carrying before he saw Seijūrō looking casually beautiful as he leaned against a bookcase. Kōki smiled at him as innocently as he could manage, having been caught in the act, and pushed his hair back nervously. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come down to surprise you. Didn’t expect to see you doing something illegal.”

“It’s not _illegal_ ,” Kōki said, but doubts started to form in his mind and he looked up at where he could just about see a corner of the book poking out from over the shelf. “Is it?” he asked, covering his mouth with his hands. All temptation aside, he _enjoyed_ working here and it wasn’t as if the school would let him carry on volunteering when he was a criminal, and Seijūrō knew more about the law and such than he did. “I’ll get it down! Just don’t tell anyone,” he said, going back to the chair. Seijūrō stepped in his path. “Sei—”

“You could just accept my punishment.”

“What punishment? You’re not a policeman in your spare time, are you?”

Seijūrō, smiling in the way that Kōki had come to see as rather detrimental to his health, caught hold of his hips and watched him until Kōki pressed his lips together and glared. “I’m _working_ , Seijūrō. What would you say if I turned up when you were working at the company and molested you?”

His eyes brightened. “I would _love_ that.”

Kōki felt his face heat up and slapped his hand away when it drifted slightly too low for his comfort. “Well, you shouldn’t. We’re in public! We’re at my _school_.”

But Seijūrō really was quite determined and very persuasive when he wanted to be, so before long he had coaxed Kōki to the quietest corner of the library and trapped his hands behind his back as he attacked his neck with bites and kisses. Kōki leaned weakly against the bookshelf and bit his lip to stop the moan when Seijūrō nibbled at his lobe. “So how long have you been hiding the books?” he said, his voice teasingly collected and steady.

“A… a few months.”

“A few months worth of punishment, huh…” Both of Kōki’s wrists in one hand, the other slowly went up the inside of his thigh as Kōki trembled, pressing his cheek against the cold wood and closing his eyes. “Anything else you feel like you should own up to?”

“N-no.” Teeth grazed over his neck and Seijūrō played with the buttons of his jeans. “Well… maybe…”

“Yes?”

Blushing—probably deeper than he ever had before—Kōki looked over his shoulder at Seijūrō. “I may have handed in some homework late.”

Admitting to that (though he was actually rather ashamed of the fact) was worth it when Seijūrō pressed harder against him, covering his mouth with a hand when he moaned out loud. “We’re in a _library_ , Kōki. Any noise means your punishment will be doubled.”

But having let his hands go, Kōki could turn and instead pushed Seijūrō against the bookshelf himself, keeping his hands flat against his chest as Seijūrō’s eyes darkened. “And what of your punishment? This is a school day; did you really skip school to come down here?”

“I may have.”

Although this slightly surprised Kōki—Akashi Seijūrō skipping school?—he had more pressing matters to deal with. And as he wasn’t the type to tease incessantly like Seijūrō did and such things only served to make Seijūrō _particularly_ impatient and quite a bit more rough, he kissed him and pressed closer until Seijūrō wrapped his legs around his waist, gasping into his mouth almost desperately as Kōki started working at the buttons of his shirt with a shaking hand.

This was abruptly cut short when he felt someone hit him over the head with a book (felt like a hardback, and rather large too) and the embarrassment of being caught caused him to jump back with his hands up, forgetting, for a moment, that Seijūrō was currently relying on him to avoid gravity. Seijūrō fell to the ground with a startled yelp and a book fell on top of his head, followed by the person who had hit Kōki doing the same to Seijūrō.

“Really? In _public_?” Kuroko, still holding the book like a weapon, gave them both a rare glower. Kōki turned away when Seijūrō smirked, looking rather proud of himself, and redid the buttons that Kōki had managed to undo before getting up. “If you force my hand, Furihata-kun, I will follow you around with a bucket of ice water.”

“He started it,” Kōki whined. Seijūrō put his arms around Kōki’s waist and kissed his neck until Kōki batted him away with low threats.

“And aren’t you supposed to be in school, Akashi-kun?”

“Got the day off,” Seijūrō explained distractedly, ignoring Kōki protests as he pulled him back into his arms and only letting go when Kuroko lifted the book again menacingly.


	34. MayuKuro

Chihiro had told himself that once everything was finally done with school, he would no longer get up early. He was pretty sure he had earned that small luxury after the years he’d spent chasing a decent education.

So why he was in Tokyo at such an early hour, he had no idea. Especially when it was so close to summer that he could see the heat rising up from the ground. When Kuroko finally stopped under a tree and sat down gracefully he let himself fall to blissfully cool grass in a heap.

“It’s too early,” he said, covering his eyes.

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Like I said.”

“You are the very definition of an otaku, Mayuzumi-san.”

He frowned in Kuroko’s direction and sat up. “If anyone else had said that I would have hit them. But you look strangely cute when insulting people so I’ll let it slide this once.”

He gave a small smile around his straw. “I apologise, Mayuzumi-san. I am sure that this current laziness is just a temporary slump. But I am very grateful that you did come today, so to reward you for your troubles—”

“You’re going to make out with me?”

Kuroko frowned. “No.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Not in public.”

“Oh really?”

“You can finish my milkshake.”

He held the half-empty cup out towards Chihiro with an expectant look, who raised an eyebrow before falling back against the ground again and sliding sunglasses from his head to put them on. “It’s vanilla.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“And I’m the one who bought it in the first place. You can’t return a gift.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

He continued sipping it delicately as Chihiro yawned and rolled onto his front. “Just promise me that next time you’ll drag Kagami out of bed or something. At least he isn’t in a different city.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Do you want some chips?” A small bag of chips dropped between Chihiro’s elbows and he picked through it for the short ones; which were always better no matter what everyone else said.

“Try them with the milkshake, maybe?” Kuroko held out the drink and put his head innocently to one side when Chihiro looked at him incredulously. “You’re not very brave, are you, Mayuzumi-san?”

“Tch,” Chihiro scoffed. “Braver than most,” he continued, but he still felt some slight inkling of horror when he dipped a small part in the milkshake (of a longer chip; he wasn’t about to waste a shorter one) and popped it in his mouth.

“So?”

Chihiro pulled a face and swallowed, chasing the flavour away with another chip. “Yeah, sure. Now you try it.”

“Of course I won’t,” Kuroko said. “I’m not an idiot nor a savage.”

He crossed his legs and gave Chihiro a triumphant little smirk for the smallest fraction of a second before dead-panning again, seemingly as innocent as the squirrels that were running along the branch of the tree behind them. “Insulting me twice in one sentence?”

He pursed his lips, meeting Chihiro’s eyes as he sat up to lean closer. “ _Savage_ isn’t always an insult.”

“But in this case it was. And I’ll have to warn you; one more insult and you’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

It was a clear invitation; one time when Chihiro was anything but subtle. Kuroko placed the milkshake beside him. “Your basketball playing during our last one-on-one was sub-par,” he quipped, smiling wider than usual when Chihiro pushed him back against the ground and kissed him until he was feeling light-headed (and knowing once Kuroko locked his legs around his waist that stopping would require more self-control than he had). When Kuroko gently pushed him away and said in a responsible-teenager voice (he was pretty sure he could insult Kuroko with that), “I don’t have protection,” he tried to push closer again.

“It’s fine; I always carry protection with me.”

He knew it was a mistake to say that as soon as Kuroko pushed him harder. “And _why_ , exactly? It’s not as if I’ll be running into you in _Kyoto_.”

“What? I carry it for this exact kind of situation. With you!” he tacked on when Kuroko narrowed his eyes. “Come on, Tetsuya. I haven’t seen you in a week; help out your horny boyfriend would you?”

The gasp from a few meters behind him made his stomach sink and he looked over his shoulder to where a girl about Tetsuya’s age was walking. Their eyes met and she blushed before walking quicker.

“Whoops,” he said, turning back to where Kuroko was watching with his arms crossed. “What? I _am_.”

“Proud of yourself, Mayuzumi-san?”

“Kinda, yeah.”


	35. AkaFuri

It took maybe three weeks before Seijūrō realised just how territorial Kōki could be. In most cases it wouldn’t have bothered him, and would have continued not bothering him had it not been for the most obscure of things. Namely, his mugs.

Seijūrō wasn’t sure what was so special about them; they were neither particularly large nor expensive and the extent of decoration was some character from popular culture of which Seijūrō naturally had no idea. The first time he picked one up Kōki gave an odd squeak and pointed at him until Seijūrō put his head to one side. “What?” he’d asked.

Kōki had blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear (which fell out immediately; Seijūrō had learnt this was a nervous habit). “Th-that’s my mug.”

Seijūrō had smirked and met his gaze until he was looking away. “So I’m not allowed to use your mugs?”

"Just the four on the top shelf."

Almost relieved that he’d found out that, in fact, even an angel like Kōki had faults, he had handed the mug over to his almost shaking hands and watched in amusement as he placed it carefully back on the shelf in lieu of another, before jumping as arms encircled his waist and Seijūrō had leant his chin on his shoulder.

Still, he insisted that Seijūrō’s possessiveness was worse than his quirks. Seijūrō laid claim to what was his by marking him, bites and love marks along his back and neck. One such time, Kōki pushed him away, covered up the side of his neck where Seijūrō had just bitten with his hand and glared at him as Seijūrō tried to blink away the haze. “Kōki?”

"That hurt."

It was one phrase that would have an instantaneous sobering effect and he gently pulled Kōki’s hand away to kiss his fingertip. “I’m sorry,” he said, waiting for Kōki to approach again.

But he tugged his hand away. “Why do you always insist on being so _rough_?”

Seijūrō let his breath go in a sigh and curved his hand over Kōki’s ankle. “To begin with, you drive me crazy so I become rather impatient,” he said first, if only to send Kōki into nervous stammers and blushing deep red. “And it’s not like you’re not possessive.”

"I am nowhere near as possessive over you as you are over me!"

Seijūrō took advantage of his distraction as he was indignantly shouting to lean forward and kiss him until Kōki pushed him away again, crossing his arms.

"I wasn’t talking about me," he said as if he hadn’t interrupted. "I was talking about your inane obsession with keeping your _mugs_ , of all things, pure.”

"Pure? I just…" He was looking to the side, chewing on his bottom lip, evidently trying to come up with some reasonable explanation.

"Don’t worry; I’m quite fond of that little oddness of yours. It was the first thing that made me realise that you aren’t perfect."

"You knew before that I wasn’t perfect."

Seijūrō leaned back a fraction, looking over his body before he bashfully pulled a blanket over his lap. “I speculated,” he said with a grin.

"With what?" Kōki muttered. Seijūrō was about to tell him that it was his bravery, his nervousness and bashfulness that had given rise to his speculation that Kōki was some sort of angel, but Kōki shook his head. "It doesn’t matter. At least mine isn’t painful," he added, his hand going to his neck again. He winced and Seijūrō removed his hand again to inspect the bruise.

"I’ll be more careful," he said, kissing it. "But I’ll beg to differ. I used one of your mugs yesterday and you hit me over the head."

Kōki covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.”

"My peripheral vision still hasn’t come back," Seijūrō said teasingly.

“ _Sei_ , I said I was sorry. Just don’t use my mugs again.”

He didn’t resist Seijūrō pulling him back into his arms, mentally adding to his ever-growing list of what exactly was perfect about Kōki.


	36. AkaFuri

The first time Chihiro suspected foul play was at some stupid meet that Reo had dragged him to. Why he had been invited in the first place he wasn’t entirely sure; he was off to university, no longer in that group, but something about Reo’s imploring look and the fact that Hayama started hanging on his arm and looked sad enough to stop bouncing for more than a second made him give in, a hand pressed to his forehead in an attempt to press away the ache.

“What are we doing, then?” he had asked, putting his shoes on.

“Playing basketball. Being together for the last time before you leave.”

He had been regretting it already, but still followed them out the door, noticing that Hayama’s hand had slipped into Reo’s. He didn’t comment; he found it a pity that his skills of observation were not going away no matter how much he didn’t care, after all.

It took easily an hour to get where they were supposed to meet, and it was when he recognised a few of the others, from Seirin and Shuutoku that he understood why.

“Don’t tell me all the bloody miracles are going to be here,” he muttered under his breath to Reo. Reo raised an eyebrow.

“Not all of them, no. Kise-kun is at a photo shoot and I think Murasakibara-kun is on holiday with his family.”

“Man, I wanna play against them,” Hayama chirped, bouncing again.

“You already have.”

“Kagami and Aomine are here, right? I wanna break past them! And Midorima’s good at defence, right? I wanna break past him too!”

“Be quiet, basketball idiot,” Reo said, but he had an edge of fondness to his voice and reached up to brush a strand of Hayama’s hair back. Chihiro, after watching them both incredulously, wondered what it was about love that made someone so blind to another’s faults. Especially as, only a few months ago, such comments would have earned him a slap over the head from the one currently caressing him.

When they stared at each other for a few moments and Chihiro was feeling more and more like a third wheel, he asked where Nebuya was. Of all people, Chihiro honestly thought he was the one who would have the most sense at the moment.

As Reo explained his absence, Chihiro looked around the court, before he caught sight of Akashi talking to one of Seirin’s members. The… the mousy one. What was his name again? It was incongruent enough that he stared for a while, until Reo noticed his distraction. “Yes, it is strange, isn’t it?” he said. Chihiro blinked at him before turning back. “Sei-chan having a crush on such a guy.”

“Does he really?” he answered, ignoring Hayama, who was bouncing to look over Reo’s head (rather than looking around him) and shouting ‘who?’ repetitively until Reo looked at him.

Even though Reo nodded, he wasn’t entirely convinced. At least, until Kuroko materialised behind him, tapped him on the shoulder and apparently scared him half to death if the boy’s shout had anything to say about it. He also dived to Akashi’s side and buried his face into the side of his neck, and although Chihiro expected Akashi to step back or just walk away, instead his arms closed protectively around the boy’s quivering form and his cheek rested against his hair for the shortest moment.

“Oh my,” Reo said. “Maybe something happened between them?”

Hayama, speechless and still for a change, gaped at the scene as the boy stepped out of Akashi’s arms, apologised and reprimanded Kuroko for his bad habits. But if Chihiro was correct, he was pretty sure he saw money being exchanged between Akashi and Kuroko.

“Did you see that?” he asked Reo.

“See what? Furihata-kun diving into Sei-chan’s arms?”

“No, not…” He shook his head, unable to put the two actions together. So instead he approached Akashi as Furihata went to some of the other members of Seirin.

“You came, Mayuzumi-san,” Akashi said, completely innocently even though Chihiro was watching him narrowly.

“Did you just give Kuroko money?”

Akashi’s smile froze. “Ah, well. About that…” It was so long before he answered it was surely a lie. “I lost a bet.” He remained perfectly still, almost eerily so.

“You’re lying.”

His jaw tensed and he glanced to the left in the direction Furihata had gone.

“Are you paying Kuroko to scare Furihata so you can… comfort him?”

If he hadn’t been surprised at such an underhanded technique being used by a kid who was, to be perfectly honest, the creepiest and strangest one he’d ever met in his confidence he would have laughed at the look of panic on his face. A rabbit caught in headlights. “Your observational skills are really coming along, senpai,” Akashi said.

“You mean you’re resorting to such cheap tactics?”

“They’re not cheap,” he said. “Kuroko knows how to drive a hard bargain.” Despite his words, he still spoke with fondness.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Akashi gave a little huff. “What I’ve discovered is that Kōki automatically comes to me when he’s scared, which was a surprising turn of events but I’m not going to complain. Once he realises that he loves me I’ll get to the next stage.”

“What’s the next stage; leaving anonymous notes for him? Why don’t you take the  _direct_  approach and ask him outright? I don’t pretend to be an expert, but I know I’ve read more light novels than you.”

“He’s not a light novel character; coming right out with it will scare him.”

“I still think you should try,” Chihiro said, wondering why exactly he was helping so much. It wasn’t as if he cared for Akashi—in fact, the less he saw him the happier he would be. Maybe it was just his intense dislike for the previous phantom sixth man which lead him to wanting to ruin everything for him. He’d never claimed to be a good person.

Akashi sighed, but nodded. “Okay, I will. If you’re wrong I won’t be happy.”

“You’re not going to blindly trust your senpai?”

Akashi frowned, trying to detect sarcasm, before apparently deeming it unworthy of his time and going to rejoin Furihata.

He watched them for a moment, trying to tell himself that it wasn’t creepy; he was just intrigued, before he felt someone come up next to him.

“I have a bone to pick with you, Mayuzumi-san.”

Kuroko seemed surprisingly expressive at that point, watching in the same direction as Chihiro where an increasingly blushing Furihata was listening to Akashi. “Oh?” Chihiro answered.

“You just disposed of my main source of income.”

“Isn’t that a pity?” he said, meeting Kuroko’s glare with a smile that let him know that he was perfectly aware of the fact, rather certain that this meant war between them.


	37. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr.

It had clicked for Kōki, of course it had, but having signed up for the cause, and somehow been inspirational and determined enough that he was then put in charge of the protest in Kyoto, he couldn’t back down. He knew he was in the right, after all—the way the Akashi company was taking advantage of the poorer countries was atrocious, and he was sure that if he could only  _ talk _  to Seijūrō, it would change his mind. He would start fighting to help them rather than plunging them into every-more-desperate poverty.

But, of course, because the people he was protesting with were really not much more than colleagues to him, they didn’t know about his personal life, about the relationship he’d had with the president of the company, the fact that they’d been  _ married _  for five years before they’d finally broken it off, the differences between them too much to transcend.

And now here he was, almost a decade after the last time he’d spoken to the one man he’d ever truly loved. He started the rally quickly, looking up at the menacing building and knowing that  _ Sei was in there _ and that in less than a couple of hours he may see him. He’d seen photos, known that in his late thirties he was more beautiful and elegant than he had ever been. The papers wondered at his non-existent love-life, a rumoured failed marriage at the beginning of his career.

And, sure enough, a couple of hours later, familiar red hair was visible through the crowd, exiting the building along with some security. Kōki, his heart pounding and dropping to the ground, ducked behind a group. Seijūrō could be menacing, and when he wanted it so it was impossible to decipher his feelings. He heard Seijūrō say that he would speak to whoever organised the protest immediately and the crowd parted in front of Kōki.

His worries that anger, or even worse,  _ indifference _ , would be Seijūrō’s primary emotions flew out of his head, because the emotions plain on his face were worse, much worse. Fear, hurt, pain. He looked like an innocent, lost child as soon as he saw Kōki and Kōki could barely keep tears from obscuring his vision.

After a breath which shook his entire body he turned away and said in a commanding voice, “Come with me.” Kōki ran after him, his knees almost shaking enough to get him to fall onto the ground. The building hadn’t changed much in the years that he hadn’t seen it, and he even recognised a few people. They rode the elevator to the top floor in silence, Kōki glancing at the development of Seijūrō’s facial expressions until the top, where he was composed and… inaccessible. He dismissed the security, let Kōki enter his office (which hadn’t changed from when Kōki had helped design it. It was a strike against his heart, that Seijūrō had kept it so constant) and shut the door, before turning to him and crossing his arms. “Talk,” he said, his tone devoid of any emotion.

It hurt, this coldness in him. His heart was pounding, it was only getting harder and harder to breathe around the lump in his throat and his eyes were pricking with tears. The familiarity of the surroundings and Seijūrō’s bright eyes were a stab in his side, but this blank expression was too different.

After a few moments of just looking at him, seeing how he’d gotten more beautiful—those pictures didn’t do him justice—Seijūrō leant back against the door and put his head to one side. “I thought you’d have a bit more to say, Furihata-san.”

“I…I…”

He quirked an eyebrow sarcastically. “Seems you’ve regressed quite a bit.”

That…  _ that _  was the point. The sarcasm in his voice, the  _ hideously _ cold, dismissive way he walked to the other side of the office and looked out the window, so different to how he’d been before with his love or at least his respect. Kōki snapped, and in just as cold a voice, said, “I’m here to reason with you about the situation in Ghana.”

He was twirling a pencil around his fingers; Kōki recognised it as a nervous tick he’d had for as long as he’d known him, but he was still composed when he turned back to Kōki. “What situation in Ghana?”

So he was dismissive about that, too. This wasn’t the Seijūrō he knew, and his anger spilled out. It was one of their differences; Seijūrō remained composed when he was angry, drawing all anger within himself to aim it at a tight, precise point. When Kōki was angry it spilled over. Passion blinded him. “The situation when  _ your _  company is forcing innocent people into more destitution and ruining more lives, taking their  _ livelihoods _  when instead you could be helping them and it wouldn’t affect your own life whatsoever!”

Seijūrō sighed. “Kōki, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve been there, Sei. I saw the problems that this company…  _your_ company is creating. It’s harming everyone, even  _you_. I saw children—” He broke off when Seijūrō snapped the pencil in his hand and bit his lip. Children were never a good thing to bring up. Seijūrō had wanted children for years. One of the last things he had said before Kōki had told him he wanted a divorce was that he wanted to start looking into adoption. “This isn’t you, Sei.”

“First of all, you can’t tell me what I am or what I’m not. You gave up that right ten years ago.” Kōki closed his eyes, anything to get away from such an expression. His passion was burning over too. “Second, you’re under the misconception that I was in charge of that branch at the time. I wasn’t. It was still my father, and he didn’t tell me what was going on. Now that I’ve taken over and found out I’ve been going through the necessary changes. You must have been out two, maybe three years ago? I was out there two weeks ago to keep an eye on things.” Kōki played with the hem of his shirt, chewing on his bottom lip. “And thirdly…” he looked at Kōki with almost a fond expression, his breath hitching again. “You have to stop being so naïve and trusting.  _That_  protest group is notorious for putting the worst spin on things. They’ve been trying to frame me for years purely because of my father. It’s nothing to do with me.”

Kōki watched him for a moment, his stomach sinking. He still trusted Seijūrō, at least above practical strangers. And he wasn’t the type to use people with so little feeling, not since his change in the Winter Cup. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” What could he say?  _ I shouldn’t have thought so badly of you? I should have stayed in contact, made sure you were well? I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have left you. _

“It’s fine,” he said, turning away. His shoulders hunched over. “I just wish you’d warned me.”

The broken tone to his voice, the way he leaned against the wall to look out the window, hiding his face from Kōki, his arms crossed tightly around his chest as if he was trying to protect himself, this was how he was when he was scared and lost and didn’t know what to do with the hurt.

“I will next time,” he said with a short laugh, wiping the tears which spilled over. “Next time I wrongfully accuse you of something.”

“Are you leaving now, then?” Seijūrō looked over his shoulder, his expression still the same fondness that he’d had when they were together.

“I… I probably should.” Seijūrō nodded and turned back to the window, protectively curving his shoulders inwards. When Kōki went to him and took his hand, leaning his forehead against his neck, Seijūrō’s breathing sped up before he leant back against Kōki’s body.

“Why, Kōki?”

Kōki shook his head. “Don’t… we were too different, Sei.”

“It never would have changed anything for me,” he said in a low voice. “It… it hasn’t. I’m still in love with you, Kōki.”

It was completely sincere, as was the way he traced his thumb along Kōki’s bottom lip when he turned, and the way he kissed him. “You’re not, Sei. We’ll just be making a mistake.”

“I never stopped loving you. I thought… I honestly thought you were happy.”

Lips still burning from Seijūrō’s kiss, Kōki shook his head. “We can’t. You’ll regret it, believe me, you…” He stopped when Seijūrō traced a hand down his back, pulled him closer, and when even those simple gestures were powerful enough to chase all thought out of Kōki’s head and forget his surroundings, forget that people were relying and waiting on his return, he could only accept Seijūrō’s touch and yearn for more. The few banal, colourless relationships he’d had after could never compare, after all.

“After ten years without you,” Seijūrō whispered against his lips. “I would never regret a single moment.”

Kōki let his nails scratch lightly over Seijūrō’s scalp, the way he had always liked it and watched as his breathing quickened and his pupils dilated. “Seijūrō…” His expression turned painfully hopeful as he pulled Kōki closer against his body. “Okay. We can try again. If we take it slowly.”

Kōki wasn’t entirely sure, with the kiss Seijūrō gave him, that he had clearly heard the ‘taking it slowly’ part, but that didn’t bother him. He could always take his time to remind him of that.

 


	38. AkaFuri

That there was something wrong was perfectly evident at the first sight of Kōki when he opened the door, dressed in the thickest jumper he owned complete with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

“The heater's on the fritz again,” he said, dragging Seijūrō in before shutting the door. “My parents won't be back until next week and I couldn't get hold of anyone to fix it. It's warm under the kotatsu though.”

It was amusing watching him bolt around the kitchen at top speed to make some tea from the comfort of the kotatsu and finally dive back under it with a sigh, the tip of his nose red. “I hate this house,” he muttered as Seijūrō held out his hand.

“What did you get for your last maths test?”

He eyed the bag in front of him before turning back to Seijūrō with a bright smile, his cheeks darkening to red probably more due to embarrassment than the cold. “What does it really matter, in the grand scheme of things?”

“Kōki, give me the paper.”

“And everything else is fine! It's just—” He broke off to protest as Seijūrō dragged the bag closer to himself but sat back meekly when Seijūrō looked at him. “I did pass,” he said quietly as Seijūrō identified the right paper and flipped through it.

“Fifty-one percent?” he said. Kōki fiddled with his scarf.

“I'm sorry. It's harder when you're not with me.”

He looked down, his lower lip sticking out in a pout and much resembling a puppy who had just been scolded. Seijūrō tapped his shoulder with the back of his hand. “You have to get used to it. We'll work through it question by question.” He turned the paper slowly and picked out the questions he'd done worst on as Kōki looked at him from under his fringe, his chin resting on his arms. “You won't be able to participate in the inter-high if you don't keep your test scores up.”

“It's not like I'm going to be able to play.”

“Not with that attitude.”

He'd riled him up, he could tell from the way Kōki straightened and his brow furrowed. “This is a maths lesson, not a life-coaching session, Akashi.”

He wrote out one of the questions onto another sheet of paper before sliding it to him. “I'm just saying that a change in attitude wouldn't be very detrimental to you.”

“You saw our first years at the practice match against Kaijō. You know that I'm nowhere near as good as half of them.”

“I don't know what you are talking about. I was there to see you.”

Kōki shook his head, said something under his breath about Akashi's being full of it, and hesitantly started solving the equation. “It was here that I got stuck,” he said after a few minutes. Seijūrō put the test down and talked him through the latter half of the question before handing him the next one and looking over his shoulder as he solved it. “Uh... x equals eight over three?”

“That's right,” Seijūrō said, leaning closer to kiss him. They weren't _together_ , not by any sense of the word, but this was always a part of their relationship that he had enjoyed, Kōki reactive and compact beside him. His hands were freezing as they settled on his neck and by reflex Seijūrō shivered. “It would be cruel to leave you here,” he said.

Kōki pulled back and shook his head as if to clear it, but still looked dazed. “Leave me here?”

“Come back to Kyoto with me for the weekend.”

“No.”

The outright rejection surprised him, and he dropped his pen on the floor and it rolled under the table. “What?”

“It's going to be, what, three days of maths and your life-coaching? If I don't want to freeze I'll go to Kagami's.”

He almost twitched at that; the thought of Kōki being in the same vicinity as Kagami—even worse, _alone_ with him—was uncomfortable and weighted in his mind like it was made of lead. “Is Kagami seeing anyone?” he said light-heartedly.

Kōki raised an eyebrow, rearranged his scarf and said, “No. He's single. Like me.” His tone was casual and light, though his triumphant look in Seijūrō's direction revealed what he hoped were the darkest workings of Kōki's mind. Any darker... he would have to contemplate it when he got to it. But as he watched Kōki turn back to the question, hiding his hands in his sleeves, he came to the jarring realisation that he was in too deep.


	39. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by hikashi on tumblr

Seijūrō knew before he’d even opened his eyes that he’d made a massive mistake the night before. The same mistake he’d made three times before, in fact. He shifted in the bed, trying to roll over, but of course the boy’s head was on his chest. Every time they’d ended up like this the boy would cling to him as if... as if they were  _lovers_.

So instead he pinched the skin on his shoulder. “Wake up, Furihata. We did it again,” he muttered under his breath.

Furihata only burrowed closer, until Seijūrō yanked on his hair and pinched him again, when he sat up with a yelp before groaning and rubbing his eyes. “Fucking hang…” he trailed off when he saw Seijūrō. He bit his lip, but not before Seijūrō saw the smirk.

“Don’t smile like that, Furihata, you…” he tried to move and fell back again at a pain in his lower back and across his inner thighs. “What in the… why am I aching so much?”

“Yeah, it’s not all that fun is it? Serves you right; you can be really rough sometimes when you top.”

“Wait,  _ _what__? Are you saying you topped last night?”

Furihata covered the smirk with his hand and nodded, shouting indignantly when Seijūrō hit him over the head with his pillow. “Why on earth…? You forced me, didn’t you?”

“Hey, what’s the problem? Just because it hurts? Grow up, Akashi.”

Despite the… issues surrounding them, Seijūrō was in fact rather fond of him, so instead of hitting him over the head with a lamp or trying to suffocate him with a pillow, he just backhanded his shoulder. Furihata looked at him reproachfully. “What’s your problem?”

“You forced me, didn’t you? Why else would I do such a degrading thing?”

“ _Degrading_?”

“Yes,  _ _degrading__. Maybe it doesn’t bother you, but it does bother me.”

Furihata shook his head. “You really don’t remember anything when you’re drunk, do you?  __You_ _  proposed me topping. I just agreed.” He shrugged and hopped off the bed gracefully (he must have done that on purpose; Seijūrō could only imagine that he would fall flat on either his face or his butt when he tried to get out of bed).

“That’s preposterous. And this is the last time, by the way.”

“You said that last time.”

“So stop propositioning me.”

He had gathered his clothes together from where they’d been flung around the room (and even made a pile of Seijūrō’s clothes on the bed) and looked at him with a sigh. Seijūrō felt colour rising to his cheeks at the reminder that he was currently… very naked, and very visible. “I never proposition you because I’m always too nervous. __You’re_ _ the one who dragged me onto the dance floor after only two drinks, and  __you’re_ _  the one who started grinding on me as if the world was bloody ending or something. And whilst you lose your memory when you’re drunk, I lose all inhibitions and any ability to say no.” He sat on the bed next to Seijūrō, who just watched him warily.

“You’re more confident than usual.”

He smirked again, running his hand through mussed hair. “Yeah, uh… you kind of… well, last night you may have… cried. A little bit.” Seijūrō could feel his heartbeat in his throat and his temples, the temperature seemingly dropping ten degrees around them. Furihata, after watching him warily for a few moments, touched his shoulder. “Akashi? Is… is everything alright?”

“I couldn’t have cried. That’s ridiculous.”

Furihata blinked and pulled his hand back. “Yeah, sure. I must have been mistaken with someone else,” he said sarcastically.

Seijūrō leant back against the pillows, cursing the ache in his body, and especially cursing Furihata. “Next time I’m topping,” he said through his teeth.

“ _Next_  time?” Furihata asked. “So there will be a next time.”

“I meant generally, not with you.”

“Oh.” He looked at Furihata, who was pouting. “Okay. Fine.” He pressed a quick kiss to Seijūrō’s mouth before getting out of bed again and dressing quickly. “A hot bath will help your muscles,” he said over his shoulder with a wink, slamming the door shut before the pillow that Seijūrō launched at him found its mark.

 


	40. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested (more or less) by breebreebreakdance on tumblr.

It all started when Tetsuya stole his milk box.

Now, in most cases, Seijūrō was a gracious ruler, and in the times where he wasn't, Kōki was quick to step in and calm him down. But when Kōki was home with 'flu and Seijūrō _still_ had to come in (instead of staying at his queen's side where he truly belonged), he found that a lot made him angry.

It had been bothering him for a while that Tetsuya had been using his very low presence and working with the Fire Dragon (Kagami; a newcomer who, though Japanese, had lived in America until recently) to steal extra boxes of milk and even, in one incident that still had Seijūrō reaching for cushions to throw at them, the biscuits that were handed out. It was stated very clearly that only one biscuit was allowed, and Tetsuya had, in Seijūrō's head, performed high treason by stealing these snack items. Not to mention that he was working with Kagami, who had yet to prove his worth and loyalty to Seijūrō.

So when a little hand took the milk box Seijūrō had decided he wanted, and then put another under his shirt, Seijūrō decided that enough was enough. He was done with going to Nijimura-sensei and fighting for justice. _He_ was king of this playground, _he_ would punish Tetsuya as he saw fit. Even Tetsuya's being one of his knights would do nothing to curb Seijūrō's wrath.

So Seijūrō squared himself, imagined Kōki was beside him, and expectantly held his hand out towards Tetsuya.

“You have one milk box too many, Tetsuya.”

Tetsuya started sipping from the one which Seijūrō had earmarked as his, his free hand holding a very suspiciously-shaped lump under his shirt. “I do not,” he said.

Seijūrō glared at him and looked around for Nijimura-sensei. Ah, he was the other side of the classroom trying to separate the monster, Haizaki, and Ryouta, another one of Seijūrō's knights. Too far away and too busy to help. “You _do_ ,” he insisted. Such things were awful in their own right; taking one too many meant one of his subjects had to go without or directly ask Nijimura-sensei for another. Seijūrō saw Kagami reach out for the last milk box and start sipping at it, innocently looking back at Seijūrō. So this time, the king had to take the brunt of the curse. He considered shouting for Nijimura-sensei anyway, but it wouldn't have done much good. Tetsuya was blessed with looking like an angel with his big blue eyes, whilst Seijūrō's red eyes and hair, according to Haizaki, made him a devil child.

Tetsuya finished sipping his milk box and promptly handed it to Seijūrō, who automatically took hold of it as he started drinking the other one.

“Who is king here?” Seijūrō exclaimed.

“You,” Tetsuya answered.

“Exactly! You call yourself my knight and yet you steal from me!”

If Kōki was here he would have offered his own milk box, and they probably would have ended up sharing. He found himself suddenly missing his queen so much that his heart ached, and he had to furiously rub his eyes to stop himself from doing something weak such as crying. “Kuroko Tetsuya, you are hereby banished from the court! You may go sit in the sand pit to await my judgement.” He expected Tetsuya to obey as the other children did, and was rather surprised when Kagami picked him up and carried him away, leaving Seijūrō with one hand outstretched, and the other still holding Tetsuya's empty milk box which he had earmarked for himself.

“Have you already finished your milk, Seijūrō-kun?” Nijimura-sensei said from next to him.

Seijūrō looked up, still confused over what exactly had just happened. “Tetsuya's been stolen by the Fire Dragon,” he said. “His mind is no longer his own.”

Nijimura-sensei blinked. “Uh... sure. Put your milk box in the bin if you're done, okay?”

Didn't Nijimura-sensei _understand_? Time was precious, he had to assemble his knights and find Tetsuya to rightfully punish him! “I have to get Tetsuya!” he shouted, starting to run in the direction that Kagami had taken him. But Nijimura-sensei took hold of his arm.

“After you put the milk box in the bin,” he said. It had no effect when Seijūrō pouted at him, so he trudged his way to the bin.

-

His first stop was Ryouta and Atsushi by the dressing-up area. Ryouta had taken to dressing anyone he could find, and Atsushi in particular never really minded what people did to him as long as they paid him with sweets. He was currently in one of the pink wigs and a large feather boa which obscured half of his face.

“Have you seen Tetsuya?”

“No,” Ryouta said happily, before turning to him and showing him a small bruise on his arm. “But did you see this? Haizakicchi pinched me!”

Seijūrō inspected the injury silently. “We'll punish him for that tomorrow.”

“It's alright. Nijimura-sensei gave him five minutes in the corner.” He said it in a hushed tone, darting a look around him to be sure no one else was close enough to hear.

“But today we have to punish Tetsuya.”

“Punish Kurokocchi?” Ryouta put a hand over his heart. “But... how? Why?”

“He's been stealing extra milk boxes,” Seijūrō said grimly. Even Atsushi seemed shocked by this revelation. “And he's working with the Fire Dragon,” he continued. “Who must also be brought to justice.” They both frowned in confusion.

“We'll tell you if we see them,” Ryouta concluded. He turned to Atsushi, who shrugged.

-

He continued by finding his most troublesome knight, Daiki, and his most trustworthy knight, Satsuki. She was loudly complaining about Daiki's unwillingness to let a basketball that he always carried around out of his hands, leading to her having to carry both of their paper and pencils around to the table nearest the door. Daiki was yawning, and promptly let his head fall onto the surface of the table as soon as they settled at it. Satsuki started drawing a simple box house with lots of flowers.

“Have you seen Tetsuya?” Seijūrō said grimly, joining them.

Satsuki blushed and Daiki glared at her. “I haven't, no,” she said, twirling her pink hair around her finger. “But if you see him you'll have to tell him that he should join us. I want to draw him a picture.”

“If I find him I will be rightfully punishing him.” Satsuki gasped at Seijūrō's words.

“But he's your knight!”

“He's been stealing milk boxes. He took mine today.”

“You can have mine,” Daiki said, taking one from his pocket and placing it in front of Seijūrō, who shook his head.

“I will bring him to justice before I rest.”

-

His final knight, Shintaro, was in his usual seat by the bookshelf, and was contenting himself with reading and every now and then kicking Takao lightly on the head (when Nijimura-sensei wasn't looking), who was playing with some toy cars from the communal toy box. Takao didn't respond except for a smile over his shoulder when this happened; he was inexplicably fond of Shintaro.

Seijūrō came to a stop next to his chair and told him of the news. Takao, listening in, said that he'd seen Tetsuya doing it and wanted to know how to join (Seijūrō mentally added him to the 'watch carefully' list). Shintaro said that he would keep an eye on his surroundings, but wouldn't move from where he was. Seijūrō noted the way he looked at the back of Takao's head and considered that his right-hand knight, the one who would take over as king should Seijūrō fall in battle or decide to remain solely with Kōki, might have his loyalties divided by a rogue citizen. Seijūrō left and took the big bear from the playmat and carried it to the Wendy house, which was serving as his and Kōki's castle. Placing it on one of the chairs, he sat in front of it.

“I could go alone to retrieve Tetsuya,” he told the bear. “I still need to find where the Fire Dragon has taken him, but I can definitely defeat him alone.”

The bear didn't respond.

“What would Kōki say if he was here?”

The bear still didn't respond. He wasn't a good substitute for Kōki.

So Seijūrō decided to leave the safety and comfort of his castle and make his way across the playground, looking for Tetsuya and Kagami. The trek seemed to take days without Kōki by his side, having to navigate his way through decimated, burnt woods (the playing surfaces) and arid deserts (the sand pit), but finally he caught a glimpse of Kagami near the logs, and ran up to him to see Tetsuya balancing on top of them; he hadn't noticed before. “Kagami!” he shouted. Kagami seemed startled by the sudden exclamation. “Tetsuya has performed high treason.”

Kagami just blinked at him.

“And he has to be punished.”

Kagami was taller than him, which irked him a lot, so he jumped on top of one of the other logs, one higher up than the one Tetsuya was on.

“Tetsuya, you'll have to follow me.”

Tetsuya shook his head, but before Seijūrō could shout at him or maybe push him off the log, a shadow fell on him and he looked up to see Nijimura-sensei. “No! Tetsuya has to be punished!” he said, struggling uselessly when Nijimura-sensei took hold of his arm.

“It's naptime,” he said, picking Seijūrō up when he was still struggling. “Tetsuya-kun? Taiga-kun?” They nodded and Tetsuya reached for Kagami's hand; the very picture of innocence. Seijūrō glared at them both from over Nijimura-sensei's shoulder, wondering whether even Kōki could curb his rage.


	41. MidoTaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr

“I regret ever letting you into my house.”

Kazunari, rather than showing that he was in fact rather irked and offended, winked at Midorima as he fell back onto the sofa. “It took you over two years, Shin-chan, but I think you should be pleased that you finally did.”

“What leads you to that conclusion?”

Midorima was glaring at him, placing his lucky item on the table (today it was a pineapple; Kazunari had taken it as a homage to their senpais and had delighted in texting them to tell them the news). Leaning forward to go through his bag that he had haphazardly tossed next to the sofa upon his entering the house—much to the dismay of Midorima—he took out his chemistry homework before answering. “There is no way your little sister would listen to you and keep quiet.”

“She would have before she met you!” Kazunari smirked at him.

“It’s not my fault your little sister has a crush on me—”

“She does not have a crush!” He adjusted his glasses nervously and hurriedly picked up the pineapple again. “She’s… a little smitten. She’ll grow out of it.”

“I never said she wouldn’t.”

“But you’re a bad influence. She’s been calling me  _Shin-chan_.” His continuing disgust (outwardly, at least) for the nickname was obvious in his tone.

“Oh, and it is a crush, Shin-chan. She asked me to marry her when I was tucking her in.”

Midorima dropped the pineapple rather spectacularly onto his foot before it rolled away somewhere into the kitchen. “I-I thought she just wanted you as a brother.”

“That was plan B, apparently. I told her I was marrying her older brother.”

If he had anything else left to drop, Kazunari was pretty sure it would have been on the floor. As it was, he tried to lean on the wall, misjudged the distance and almost fell over. “A-and what did she say?”

“She’s very happy. Gives us her blessing.”

Now, this wasn’t  _entirely_  true; Miyuki hadn’t asked Kazunari to marry him. If he was entirely honest, he was just trying to get an amusing reaction out of Midorima. He wasn’t an idiot, after all; he was perfectly aware of Midorima’s crush on him, and it was a natural instinct to tease him as much as he could without letting on that he knew.

Midorima stared at him. Kazunari just smiled back at him.

“I think you’re lying.”

“Oh and she also said that I have to sleep over. I’ve already called my mother; she’s dropping some things off.”

“Don’t decide such things without asking me!” Midorima shouted. Kazunari threw a cushion at him and told him to be quiet. “Where will you sleep?”

Kazunari looked at him from under his eyelashes. “Why, with you, of course.”

That was maybe edging more towards  _cruel_  than  _teasing_ , but Midorima’s expression was really something to be seen.

-

They didn’t end up sleeping in the same bed, in fact; Midorima made sure of it. Miyuki insisted that Kazunari help get her ready for school, Midorima watching narrowly from the hallway and twitching every time she called him ‘ _Kazu-onii-chan_ ’, and then refused to leave the house until Kazunari was walking with them and holding her hand. Just to keep the joke going, once they’d waved her off, Kazunari took Midorima’s arm, gazed up at him and said, “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

It was all very amusing, until Midorima pushed him into a hedge on the side of the pavement.


	42. AkaFuri

Kōki supposed it was Seijūrō’s voice which kept him on the precipice.

It ebbed and flowed, how close he was to death, but he was still always hoping that he would hear a few more words, and his heart only yearned for more whenever a few words passed. Seijūrō’s voice was beautiful, after all. More than his eyes, how he moved, his expressions, it was his voice that Kōki loved most. Between the steel he had adopted when he wasn’t himself and soft, elegant tones when he was, heated whispers against the nape of his neck, muffled against the skin on his hips and thighs, even the condescending tones when he talked to Kagami, if only to irk him, it had become what Kōki lived for.

But that had been fine. Seijūrō lived for him anyway.

Even now, when all he could see was darkness, when he was trapped inside a body that didn’t listen to his commands, Seijūrō still lived for him. He came every day, talking all the while, sometimes pausing and watching him so heavily Kōki could feel the weight of it, whispering, “ _Please come back_ ,” in a broken voice that Kōki had only added to the list of voices that he loved (it was selfish, it was incomprehensible that he felt it about the one he loved, but it was proof that he would never be forgotten).

_I want to come back. Keep calling for me, I want to come back_.

-

He still slept. It was odd, he should be sleeping all the time in the state that he was in, but like before he was awake, he slept, he dreamt. The dreams were everything from bright and vivid to monochrome, included everyone. He took Nigou on walks with Kuroko, played street basketball with Fukuda and Kawahara, joined Hyuga and Riko as a third wheel to an arcade. He was with Seijūrō in every way possible, Seijūrō told him he loved him in every way he could. One night, he begged Seijūrō to step away from the life support and give him another chance, and woke up with a start to lips pressed against his forehead.

“ _Good morning, beautiful_.”

Kōki missed being able to call him an idiot and hide a blushing face against Seijūrō’s neck. Missed being able to cheerfully argue with him about his inability to live without PDA and the way he would talk about the future as if there was no doubt that they would always be together.

_What are you still doing here, Sei?_

The answer didn’t come and Kōki wished he could sigh.

“ _You should open your eyes. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, love._ ”

A hand slipped into his. Kōki wanted to squeeze it back, even though Seijūrō was squeezing hard enough for the two of them.

-

According to his parents and Seijūrō, the chill set in early that year. Kōki found himself catching up to it sometimes. Even though the hospital had to be kept warm, of course, he felt himself gradually getting colder, but unable to communicate it. Sometimes he felt like it was close, like only a little push was needed before he surfaced, but then Seijūrō would speak and he would settle back, letting the sound of it wash over him slowly.

There would always be another day anyway. Like this, he felt like he had all the time in the world.

-

It was said that in the last six minutes before someone dies, they relive their entire lives as if it was just beginning again. It hadn’t been something he’d thought about much, but with his room a lot more silent than it had ever been before and slipping in and out of consciousness like he was floating on waves, it was something he realised  _was_  true. Followed by incessant, steady beeps, he met Seijūrō again. He was playing basketball and only sometimes stopping to look up at the sky and wonder why this world warped sometimes, why he felt time speeding up. Seijūrō fell in love with him the same way he always had and Kōki was pulled along at his pace, never minding that he felt out of control. It was like holding your breath under water for as long as possible until you fought for the surface and took in deep breaths; living in his fears excited him. He learnt again and again that what he thought he wanted of life—a quiet, calm normality—was a lie. What he wanted was the thrill of being with someone so much stronger than him, to push his boundaries as much as he could in the time he had.

But there were always those moments when everything slowed down. It was symbiotic, this relationship. When Seijūrō broke down, Kōki held him.

_Where are you…?_

His… his room had been quieter, albeit the beeps. The hospital room where he really lay. Seijūrō’s voice hadn’t been there to bring him slowly back, his parents had said Seijūrō’s name in hushed, darkened tones. He hadn’t been able to ask them to speak up, to tell him where he was.

He slipped back into his life again from the reverie. He was leaving the apartment, kissed Seijūrō on his forehead before leaving, not thinking it odd that Seijūrō wasn’t talking, that he hadn’t talked for…

He couldn’t remember the last time.

The sky warped when he came to the alleyway, a shortcut from home to the corner shop. He stopped at the mouth of it and looked through the darkness, the buildings stretching higher then the clouds either side of him. This alleyway… he stepped forwards slowly, saw himself on the ground near the wall, pockets torn and blood staining his hair darker. It wasn’t… odd to see himself like that even though he was standing next to it. It wasn’t. Was it?

The sky warped again.

He wasn’t startled at looking up again to see Seijūrō, even though it almost came as a question to his lips;  _Why aren’t you in the hospital room? Where are you?_

“ _It’s over_.”

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Kōki took his outstretched hand, watched shadows dance over Seijūrō and forgot the body that was lying still beside him.

The steady beeps that followed gave out to a long tone.


	43. MayuAka

Chihiro had to commend himself with his reaction to seeing Akashi standing motionless at the door out of the school building. Although he would have rather wanted to, he didn't push him outside or throw the nearest object—which happened to be a chair—at him. Coming to a stop several doors over from his, he sighed and glared for good measure. “What are you doing?”

“I didn't bring an umbrella. I'm waiting for the rain to stop.”

The sky was much too overcast and the rain coming down to hard for that to be an acceptable thing to hope for, and from Akashi's expression he was aware of it himself (irritated, maybe, that he couldn't control the weather like he could everything else; Chihiro almost regretted not pushing him outside when he had the chance).

“Why don't you call your chauffeur or something?”

Had the smile Akashi gave him been on anybody else, it could have been called 'beaming', but on Akashi it just looked creepy. “Why, are you worried about me, senpai?”

Chihiro said nothing in response.

“My phone is dead and the chauffeurs are all in Tokyo anyway.”

“You have more than one?”

Akashi nodded and turned back to the rain. Staring daggers into his back (rich people annoyed him to hell and back), Chihiro opened his bag to take his umbrella out before pausing. In high school drama novels with a hint of the supernatural, this was when the protagonist would offer to share the umbrella, and he would immediately be fixed as the ' _kind-hearted_ ' type. Chihiro wasn't kind-hearted, he knew that, but he was also aware that the longest he spent with Akashi the more likely it would be that he would find out what exactly were his weaknesses and find some way to eliminate the ridiculous physical attraction between them.

He lifted up the umbrella. “Do you want to share mine then?”

“Have you started reading shojo manga?”

“What?”

“It's an awfully romantic gesture. Are you sure you're ready for the commitment?”

“Why are you so sarcastic today?”

Akashi gave him the wide-eyed gaze which always made him feel as if he was being stripped to the bone in order to carve out every secret he had. Not that Akashi hadn't learnt every single secret he had to offer.

“I will share it,” he said, and then, because he was Akashi, waited for Chihiro to approach him.

It didn't take him long to realise it had been a mistake.

“My shoulder's getting wet,” he said within a few minutes. Chihiro looked down at Akashi, who edged closer, enough that their arms were touching and glaring at him reproachfully when he stepped away. “You offered to share the umbrella. Follow through with it.”

All Chihiro could think was that his reward for doing such a selfless deed had better be something good. Maybe a legendary weapon of some sort. Some mystical object or magical powers. The ability to stop time? That would certainly help his misdirection, not that he wanted anything which would benefit Akashi. He would find some way to humiliate him; it was only fair.

“Chihiro.” He roused himself from his pointless daydreams and shook his head before realising that his own shoulder was wet. “You live down this road, don't you?”

How Akashi knew that, he had no idea, but he was pretty sure he should have expected that any kind of relationship between the two of them would result in a background check.

“You were about to walk past it.”

He was about to leave (and take the umbrella with him; Akashi's health be damned) but before he could Akashi had taken hold of his tie and pulled him down to kiss him. It wasn't the first (far from it) and even though every time Chihiro hoped it would be, he doubted it would be the last. He was well-acquainted with his little habits; how he would keep his eyes open for the first few seconds, before pushing his bright hair back behind his ears, his free hand coming to rest on the nape of Chihiro's neck, fingers lightly stroking his skin. Though Chihiro didn't enjoy it—he hated it, in fact—he still pulled him closer by his waist, opened his mouth obediently when Akashi bit his lower lip and let him take complete control. Akashi's taste was annoyingly, achingly familiar and preyed on his mind. Too distracted to take much notice, Akashi took the umbrella from his hand and pushed him away before swiftly leaving. He watched after him for him a moment before cold water dripped down the back of his neck.

Well, that was probably for the best, he thought, glaring up at the offending clouds before running the last hundred meters home.


	44. MibuMayu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr.

Chihiro was more nervous than he had to be as he looked down at the fancy menu, at the same time darting furtive glances about the room to pick out the guy that was most likely to be Mibuchi’s ex.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” he said as he picked out several possibilities. Mibuchi’s type must be muscular men, right? Types that could knock him down with one punch. He didn’t trust his misdirection so much to be able to hightail it out of the restaurant. “Or even why you chose me. Shouldn’t you choose someone… I don’t know; a bit more striking?”

“Oh, relax,” Mibuchi said. “Now put your arm around my shoulders. We need to make it as authentic as possible.”

“Do I really have to?”

“It’s either that or you grab my ass on the way out.”

Chihiro put his arm around Mibuchi’s shoulders hurriedly, pretty sure that his skin was emitting enough heat to start a small fire. “You know I’m straight, right? This is really weird for me.”

Mibuchi settled his head against Chihiro’s shoulder and sighed. “Doesn’t the fact that you’re _straight_  mean that this is nothing?”

Even though he’d said that—and Chihiro could see the logic in it, he really could—he still shifted, feeling increasingly awkward and… exposed. People usually didn’t notice him, but with Mibuchi hanging off him he was pretty sure he was in the spotlight. Were those girls from school behind him, glaring at him jealously? That big guy walking up to their table, was he the one Mibuchi was trying to make jealous? But he passed without looking at them twice and Mibuchi didn’t react.

“You should probably, like, kiss the top of my head or something.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Don’t overreact; it’s just a small kiss.”

“A very gay kiss.”

He regretted his words when Mibuchi pinched his leg. “I’m getting you that signed book,  _you_ told me you owed me a big one and kissing the top of my head is nothing.”

Chihiro grimaced, but did it. He even only nudged him away gently when the waitress appeared instead of elbowing him harshly, and throughout the rest of the ‘date’ did as Mibuchi asked. He did wonder sometimes whether the lengths he would go to for books he wanted was a bit extreme.

“There’s only one thing left to do, you know,” Mibuchi said when they were finally outside.

Chihiro, completely exhausted by all the pretending, raked his hand through his hair. “What could there possibly be left?” he asked. He’d held his hand, touched his thigh, smiled lovingly at him and even—in a harrowing incident which was best forgotten—let Mibuchi put his hand in his back pocket.

“The goodnight kiss,” Mibuchi said. Chihiro stepped back quickly and glared at him; really, _that_  was much too far. This was only supposed to be a simple outing to make his ex feel jealous,  _not_  some kind of actual date.

“No way.”

“How much do you want that book?”

The image of it floated in his mind; a signed, collectible, first edition copy. In a couple of decades, it could be worth thousands of yen, and it would be in his own collection. The call of it was really too much for Chihiro to resist, and he closed his eyes, shook his head, and gruffly said; “Fine.”

The speed at which Mibuchi darted forwards to kiss him was a surprise, as was his enthusiasm. It threw him, the way he was cupping Chihiro’s face gently, insistently probing with his tongue until Chihiro opened his mouth, pressed just a little closer when Chihiro shivered (because of the cold,  _not_  the kiss), biting his lower lip and stepping back just as he’d coaxed a muffled moan from Chihiro.

“I suppose I should own up to something.”

Chihiro tried to massage the nape of his neck, feeling rather dazed.

“There’s no guy. I just wanted to go out on a date with you, really.”

Rather disoriented by the suddenness of his change of identity (or revelation; did sexuality change?) he glared at Mibuchi. “You owe me more than a book.”

Thankfully Mibuchi understood the insinuation, and winked at him before stepping forwards to kiss him again.


	45. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by breebreebreakdance on tumblr

There were certain privileges to being the son of a sultan, and with all that made the job difficult, Seijūrō made it a point to enjoy these perks as much as possible. After a particularly long day at court being talked at by various subjects who wanted money for some venture or other, being bribed by his advisors to stop being so petulant (after five hours, it all became very boring) he entered the banquet hall fully intent on losing his boredom and anger in the festivities. It started off well, too. After being plied with wine by various servants and watching the dancers for a while—the rhythmic movements always lulled him into something of a trance—his father approached and put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"You have to learn to be more patient, Seijūrō."

"I am patient," Seijūrō replied, and when his father looked at him he turned away. Maybe he shouldn’t have had so much wine. "I’ll do better tomorrow. It was just long today."

"You snapped at Kuroko again didn’t you?"

Seijūrō focused on the dancers, feeling his cheeks burn. It was true, he had. After what could only have been a thousand people, he’d told Kuroko that one more would result in him being stoned (technically, he wouldn’t be able to hand out that punishment to someone like Kuroko, who had indefinite protection from the sultan, but he had been tired). Regardless, Kuroko had not been best pleased with Seijūrō’s reaction.

A brunette dancer caught his eye before blending into the background.

"Kuroko is irreplaceable. He is your elder and should be treated with respect."

"I’ll do better, father. I apologise."

His father nodded. Seijūrō’s eyes were caught again by the brunette, who was dancing with his eyes closed. “That brunette is new, right?”

His father only half looked; he’d never cared much for the dancers. “I think so.”

Seijūrō stayed, watching the dancer as he moved like water over the cold floor, the fabrics moving over his skin and jewellery making music on his wrists and ankles.

-

Seijūrō had met myriads of beautiful people before; being a prince meant that he would have various princesses and queens come, hoping to form an alliance with his country once he was sultan, but it had never affected him much. He’d thought for a long time that sexual relations didn’t appeal to him, and would listen only out of curiosity when one of the few friends he had described each and every encounter, sexual or not, with both men and women (usually in great detail) and find himself, more often than not, disgusted by it.

Which was why requesting a private audience with this dancer (he learnt from a pink-haired dancer he’d talked to a couple of times before that he was called Furihata Kōki) was a rather tricky thing. He started by off-handedly mentioning to his father that he would like some dancers to entertain him in his room and no matter how much he insisted that he meant for the entertainment to be dance, his father said that as a prince, and future sultan, he should take great care of his public image and having dancers privately entertain him would tarnish it. He concluded by going to Kuroko and ordering him directly, as well as forbidding him to breathe a word of it to his father.

"Furihata-kun is very shy, Akashi-kun," Kuroko said. Seijūrō stared at him, trying to work out whether he was laughing (it was always difficult to tell).

"I just want him to dance for me. It’s his job, isn’t it?"

"I’ll try to keep it from your father, but I can’t make any promises."

He started to walk away and Seijūrō grabbed hold of his arm, having to duck down a little to whisper into his ear, “That’s an order, Kuroko. Do not let my father find out.”

Kuroko wasn’t happy, and made it obvious with a glare and slapped his hand away, but still answered, “Yes, my lord.”

-

By the end of the day he’d had enough of people and their problems always aimed towards him and shut himself up in his room, sending his personal slaves away to work elsewhere. Completely exhausted lying on his bed, he forgot about having issued orders to Kuroko to send up Kōki, and only remembered once there was a knock at the door. Kuroko always found a way to obey orders; he was trustworthy like that.

Seijūrō got to his feet and opened the door, cocked an eyebrow at an entirely expressionless Kuroko, before looking at a nervous, quivering Kōki. Kuroko patted Kōki’s shoulder encouragingly and Seijūrō’s heart twisted a bit when Kōki smiled at his advisor gratefully.

"Come in," he said to distract himself from the sinking feeling when Kōki gave him a terrified look. He obeyed, standing in the middle of the room.

"Akashi-kun—" Seijūrō tried to quickly shut the door, but Kuroko was too quick and blocked it with his foot, pulling Seijūrō down lower by the front of his clothes. "Keep an eye on yourself," he said in a low voice, too quiet for Kōki to hear.

Seijūrō hit his hand away and pushed on the door until he stepped back.

Kōki had his eyes closed and his shoulders were almost up to his ears, still quivering. Seijūrō wasn’t entirely sure what to say to calm him, and so ordered him to dance.

Kōki’s eyes opened, and he exclaimed, “You just want me to dance?”

Seijūrō stared at him until Kōki blushed red and put his hands over his mouth. “I apologise, my lord!” he said quickly, bowing. “I spoke out of turn.”

"I said to dance," Seijūrō ordered, really rather irked that a servant would defy him for so long. Kōki nodded, bowing once more before starting to dance with his eyes closed again. Just watching him, the trails of fabric rippling around him, his jewellery catching the light of the candles, he could feel every bit of stress leaving his body in a hypnotising fashion. He continued to dance unwaveringly as Seijūrō leant against the door watching him, his breath catching in his throat at his beauty. It wasn’t that Kōki was particularly beautiful himself—he was rather plain, in fact—but when he danced he resembled some kind of otherworldly creature, or even fire.

He didn’t realise how close he was getting until Kōki danced into him, his eyes flew open, startled, and Seijūrō had to hold him up by his waist to prevent him from falling.

Kōki was frozen, facing away from him as Seijūrō kept hold of his waist. He wasn’t much shorter than Seijūrō; by turning his head he could brush his lips over the shell of his ear, and it was only natural after that to kiss down his neck. He had slightly darker skin than Seijūrō, and it was smooth as silk over his hard muscles. It was too tempting, even the tips of his hair tickling his cheeks was electrifying.

Kōki jumped enough when Seijūrō bit his neck that his shoulder hit Seijūrō’s chin and he dove to the other side of the room. “Th-that isn’t part of my job description, my lord,” he said in a high voice.

Seijūrō’s breathing was edging up and his heart was pounding like it never had before, but with Kōki trembling he still felt like he had to apologise. “I’m not going to force myself on you,” he continued.

Kōki’s narrow shoulders curved inwards, making himself smaller. “My lord—” he stopped talking when Seijūrō approached, his eyes closing again and his lower lip trembling. Seijūrō caught his lip between his teeth before kissing him, stroking along his jaw. When Kōki didn’t react he pulled away.

"You can leave."

Kōki scrambled to obey, leaving Seijūrō to feel cold like a flame had just been extinguished.

—-

When Kōki arrived back downstairs and joined in with the other dancers in the great hall it wasn’t long before Momoi danced up next to him with a flourish and gave him a beaming smile. “What did he want?”

Kōki regretted Momoi being there when Kuroko had approached. “Just to dance for him,” he answered. It wasn’t entirely a lie, he hadn’t  _said_  that he wanted anything more than that, but Kōki still felt guilty.

"Really? I thought he’d finally found someone who pleased him," she said. She shrugged. "It’s a pity."

Kōki stopped dancing. “But I’m a man.”

"As long as it’s not openly stated, having male lovers is fine. And he’ll be sultan anyway. No one would harm him."

Kōki sighed. “I need a break,” he said making his way through the dancers to the back and down the slaves’ hallway to the kitchen. He hadn’t expected dancing at the palace would be so difficult; after fending for himself, a few coins tossed at him a day, dancing on street corners and dodging various people who tried to molest him or chase him away, he was finally being asked to dance and getting regularly paid for it. Not much, but there wasn’t a chance of him starving anymore.

Were all the dancers expected to entertain with their bodies in more ways than just dancing? Even worse, was Akashi offended because of Kōki’s cold reaction? He was nothing more than a servant; he could be put to death at any moment for not much more reason than denying him what was his. Kōki stopped, thought about the people he’d seen dragged about the town behind chariots until they finally died, the sound of thrown stones hitting and breaking people. His fear was one of the reasons he joined the group of dancers at the palace, they seemed to be adored by those who enjoyed the dancing.

When he went back out into the hall again, Akashi was at the far end of the hall. Kōki tried to forget about him, closed his eyes and danced.

-

After Kuroko had been Akashi’s messenger every day for a week to bring Kōki up to his room, and he hadn’t made much of a move to touch him (apart from one time when one of the gossamer shawls got caught in his earring and Akashi insisted on freeing it himself), Kōki found himself a lot more comfortable being with him and feeling enough trust for the future sultan that he no longer feared for his life. He would never speak out of turn and always did what Akashi asked of him but he no longer trembled at the sight of him. Learning the dances Akashi particularly liked watching, he did all he could to please him.

"Why do you close your eyes when you dance, Kōki?"

Kōki opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at where Akashi was lounging and watching him intently. “It’s not an interesting reason, I’m afraid, Akashi-sama.”

Akashi smiled at his tone. “Humour me.”

"So there’s less distraction."

"That is a disappointing reason," he said in response. Kōki pressed his lips together and winked at him (he’d discovered that light-hearted flirting always relaxed Akashi quicker than silence did). "Do you mind if I make up a reason myself?"

"If it pleases you, my lord."

"Although it will be difficult to come up with a reason which justifies hiding such beautiful eyes from me."

Kōki stopped dancing, lowered his arms slowly and swallowed nervously.

"Too much?" Akashi asked.

Kōki shook his head. “Your eyes are more beautiful, my lord.”

Kōki couldn’t help but notice that the tension was back in his prince’s shoulders at his words, and berated himself for his words. It wasn’t light-hearted flirting at all, and all the dancing he’d just done to calm him was rendered void. “May I ask you a question, my lord?”

"Yes."

"What is it about dancing that calms you?"

There was a long pause. “I don’t know.”

-

It was exactly two weeks after he’d first danced for Akashi that Kōki started dreaming about him. It started innocently, images of him watching as Kōki danced, simple casual touches, but quickly became more heated. He was overwhelmed with vivid dreams where Akashi was tearing the fragile fabric off him, kissing him until he couldn’t breathe, commanding Kōki in a low whisper. It made dancing in front of him awkward and difficult, so much so that Akashi approached him and took hold of his arm.

"You’ve been distracted all week."

"I-I’m sorry, Akashi-sama."

"And you’re trembling again," he added, sounding displeased.

Kōki closed his eyes, but they flew open again when Akashi tilted his chin up. He was so close; only a few centimetres away. Kōki’s entire body was burning, as if the flame coloured material was actually fire. The same colour as Akashi’s eyes. It was him, this time, who closed the space between them, Akashi gasping against his mouth and holding him as if he was breakable.

—-

Watching Kōki dance in the main hall made Seijūrō feel quite torn between pride that Kōki was his and jealousy that other people saw him dancing. The jealousy would only dissipate when he was with him. Kōki now came to his room of his own accord, took initiative to kiss him and tug at his clothes with a forwardness that he’d become rather fond of.

Being with Kōki like this calmed him as much as watching him dance, and the warmth afterwards, lying next to Kōki, was even more so, as if the world around them slowed down.

"You always keep your jewellery on," he said quietly one night, running a thumb over the tarnished bronze bracelets on his wrists and upper arms. Kōki curled closer and twisted a hand in his hair.

"It’s all I have from my mother," he said. "Akashi-sama—"

"I told you to call me by my name." Seijūrō rolled on top of him, watched the blush colour his skin when he kissed his collarbone. "But no necklace."

Kōki sighed when Seijūrō straightened, opening the drawer next to his bed to take one of the necklaces out. It was simple enough, gold with a red stone which would hang just below the hollow of his throat. He fastened the chain around Kōki’s neck.

"I… I can’t—"

"Yes you can."

He smiled. “Thank you, Akashi—” He stopped when Seijūrō put a hand over his mouth.

"I told you to call me by my name, Kōki."

"Seijūrō," he said. Seijūrō leant his forehead against Kōki’s as Kōki wrapped his legs around Seijūrō’s waist.

-

When Seijūrō’s father’s health started declining and Seijūrō was named sultan, Kuroko took him to the side and quietly said, “Now that you’re sultan, Akashi-kun, you should think about marriage.”

Seijūrō straightened a candle and glowered at Kuroko. “Both men and women have ruled successfully alone. I see no need to marry.”

Kuroko sighed and then smiled at him surprisingly fondly. “Are you sure it’s not because of your relationship with Furihata-kun?”

Seijūrō darted a glance at where Kōki was dancing and then back to Kuroko. “How did you…?”

"I’ve known you since you were a child, Akashi-kun. You can’t hide much from me. His going up to your room every night was self-explanatory regardless."

Seijūrō looked away. “So why did you ask?”

"Just making sure." He gave Seijūrō an expressionless look. "You don’t have to hide your relationship with him. You are sultan, after all."

"You believe so?"

Kuroko followed Seijūrō’s eyes to Kōki and nudged him with his elbow. “Fine.”

—-

After the official announcement of their relationship Kōki started living with Akashi in the palace as, for all intents and purposes, his wife. Kōki, finally having the protection he had wanted and a place to live, took to helping Akashi rule from the sidelines and in ‘relieving’ stress (according to Akashi, and at one point, Kuroko, this job was very important). Although people talked about their relationship, Akashi was enough of a strength to Kōki that he never let it hurt him.

Kōki still danced in the main hall, and was still popular as he had been before. In the evening, he returned upstairs and prepared the room for Akashi. It was wonderfully familiar, the door opening behind him, Akashi’s hands on his hips to pull him closer and kissing his shoulder.

"Good day, my lord?" he asked, pushing him away when he bit his neck.

"Kōki," he reprimanded. Kōki hid a smile behind his hand.

"Seijūrō," he said, turning his head when Akashi tried to kiss him. "That’s why I don’t use your name. Every time I do you attack me."

Seijūrō cocked an eyebrow. “You enjoy it.”

Kōki pressed his lips together, touched the red pendant around his neck and kissed him until the tension had gone from his shoulders. “Seijūrō,” he said quietly, biting back a smile when Akashi pressed him closer. “What is it about dancing that you love so much?”

From his smile and the light-hearted way he pulled Kōki back to the bed, Kōki knew he had to brace himself.

“I suppose the gods knew it would bring you to me.”

Kōki almost laughed, gave Akashi a look of slight disdain before pushing him gently onto the bed.


	46. AkaFuri

Seijūrō accepting his mother’s death was something which made perfect sense to him alone. He’d cried for a while, allowed himself to revel in the weakness which surrounded other people until the funeral, when he looked up at his father emotionless beside him. 

Petty emotions wouldn’t bring her back. He pushed the tears down to a place that he couldn’t access even if he wanted to, took his father’s hand which was offered to him, feeling, in the stillness which settled over the graveyard, as if he’d woken from a vivid dream with cold water in his face. Although he stumbled a couple of times over the uneven ground, he wasn’t allowed to drop his pace. His hand was held firmly, leaving no time to look over his shoulder at the headstone which was getting smaller in the distance. 

-

He still felt that way, really, even if tears were welling up in his eyes at the result of the game. Second year in a row, and the title of ‘ _best_ ’ still alluded him.

It was something he often wondered, whether falling back into what he had been would be best for the team, for his own duties within his family. It was the one thing the therapist hadn’t been able to convince him of.

What was it? Mental health being more important than duty as an Akashi and as captain of a team? The mentalities were as far apart as two stars. Still, he stepped up to shake Hyuga-san’s hand, politely said a word of congratulation to Kagami and Kuroko, who were much too ecstatic about the outcome to take much notice, and mentally wandered about the crowd who had supported Seirin. What was it about them? The underdog quality? Their unadulterated happiness at every win? 

"I do wonder about that team," Mibuchi said beside him. He beamed when Seijūrō looked at him. "Looks like fun, doesn’t it, Sei-chan?"

It did look like fun, and even made him smile when Kagami caught Kuroko up in a crushing hug. 

-

As he had expected, Furihata came to find him after the game. His steps were easy enough to distinguish from the crowd—he dragged his feet slightly as if he was never certain about his destination—and half to amuse himself, half because he was turning into some sort of unwilling masochist hellbent on pushing people who mattered away from himself, he lightly said, “Come to gloat?” with his eyes still closed. 

His… friend, he supposed, dropped his bag. “No!” He sighed, and Seijūrō imagined he was unconsciously pouting. One eye cracked open to see that he was, facing the ground. “I came to see if you needed any help.”

He didn’t reply until Furihata prodded him and whined a bit. “Hayama has disappeared.”

"Again?"

"Mibuchi is looking for him so no need to worry."

"Oh." He settled next to Seijūrō on the steps. "I haven’t been here in over a year," he continued. Seijūrō let him chatter on—yes, that was right, this was where they’d first met—watching the trees and feeling calmer than he should. "I’m just relieved that I won’t have to confess my love naked."

Seijūrō looked at him before remembering what Kuroko had mentioned that deal one time with an almost-but-not-quite mischievous look on his face. “Aida-san’s quite a coach.”

"She really is," he said. The light made it seem like he was blushing.  
  
He had mentioned a couple of times that he found her cute. He forced a smile, turned back to the trees, remembering that he would have to place an offering on his mother’s grave and tell her the outcome of the game. He would keep it from his father a little longer, maybe.

A hand patted gently at his hair, and he was suddenly a child again, bounding to his mother with his latest completed project to receive the reward of her smile and a pat on the head; which his father never would have given him (any acknowledgement from him was a nod and ‘As expected of an Akashi’ or ‘Do not expect praise, Seijūrō’ and strangely Seijūrō was, in a way, grateful to him for that; it had made him stronger and independent). It was Furihata petting him, he knew that, but he could see his mother superimposed on him. She’d had brown eyes too, he remembered suddenly, tears pricking his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, retracting his hand. The illusion disappeared from view but remained somewhere in the back of his mind. "Your fringe has grown out again. It gets a bit messy." Furihata smiled nervously, brought his feet up a step so he was sitting a little more curled over.

A little more protective, as if Seijūrō would hurt him. Shivering a little from the cold though Seijūrō felt warmer than he had in years.

"Furihata—"

"Akashi-san played really well today," he said suddenly. "Although I suppose it’s a bit stupid to say that. You always play well."

"Furihata—" a little more desperate, but Furihata continued as if he’d blocked out any surroundings. 

"And the rest of the team, of course."

"You played well."

Furihata laughed and Seijuro’s breath caught in his throat. He was scattering stars over the world when he smiled, brilliant fireworks when he laughed. “As well as I can. I freeze up when I’m around you.”

Seijūrō touched Furihata’s hand just barely, with the side of his little finger, watched the way his heart jumped before he took it and how his blush was reaching his ears. 

"You’re not anything like I thought you were, Akashi-san," he said. Seijūrō pressed his lips together and turned away, a short laugh still escaping. 

"Should I be offended?" he asked. Furihata gave him the look of a rabbit caught in headlights before he smiled. 

"Maybe a little."

-

The offering in itself was simple and inexpensive. It always was; his mother had never been someone who had taken massive advantages from her wealth. A basketball, along with some flowers from the garden which she had kept beautiful and the help had tried their best to maintain. 

As much as it had the year before, this meant something. In the years where he’d lost himself, he came to her graveside every year on the anniversary of her death as a duty, only kneeling before the shrine at home if he was feeling particularly alone and… detached from himself. Not that he remembered her every moment of the day even now, but there was something calming about coming here. 

"I lost again," he said out loud. What would she have said? Whenever he had made a mistake when he was younger she would always hug him and kiss his forehead, insisting that he would get it if he tried again. Seventeen was probably a little too old for such things, though. "I’ll try again next year, kasan." The breeze stirred through his hair. "But there is better news," he said, staring at the dates on the stone until they blurred. "I’m in love."


	47. AkaFuri

Kōki was frightened.

Not that it was anything new. He had a nervous disposition, and until he’d really started to force himself to think more positively also had a propensity to think the worst of situations—what a lot of people would call a ‘glass half-empty’ mindset. 

It wasn’t even fear of Akashi, which was the weird part. Even weirder: he was sure that he would feel worse if Akashi was not there, looking at him with an almost (not quite, there was the shadow of a smile) unreadable expression, his fingers slotted between Kōki’s as if the two had been separated from a whole being sometime in the distant past.

The wind blew through the open window, and Kōki thought of rising to shut it.

"I know you’re laughing at me," he finally said. Ironically enough, Akashi gave a small, muffled laugh at that, and Kōki took advantage of his distraction to drop his hand and dive to the window.

"Now I am," he said—damn it, he’d followed. He looked at Akashi over his shoulder, tried to rearrange his limbs to something less awkward (which only made him feel more so). "I thought you’d had a girlfriend before?"

"Doesn’t mean I did anything." Akashi cocked an eyebrow and took his hand again. "I always wanted the first time to be something special." The room seemed to have augmented in temperature by several degrees, even more so when Akashi stepped closer. 

"It’s just a kiss," he said, brushing a few wayward strands of brown hair back.

Kōki wanted to shout at him, even though he knew the angry (almost petulant; it became endearing sometimes) reaction it would cause from Akashi’s end, but instead looked at him as earnestly as he could. “It’s never going to be just for anything when it comes to Akashi-kun. That’s how I feel about you.” A tactical mistake, to look at him so earnestly. Akashi approached, stopped himself with some difficulty and seemed unwilling to look away from his lips, even when Kōki cast his eyes downwards, sideways, anywhere but towards Akashi. “Don’t,” he warned. “I’m kicking you out if you try anything.”

He wouldn’t, and they were both aware of that, but he said it regardless, breathing a sigh of relief when Akashi backed away with a patient smile and settled instead for kissing the back of his hand.

-

Kōki thought he was becoming incredibly lucky when he didn’t mention it at all for the rest of his stay (even though he insisted on sleeping in the same bed as Kōki, who was too exhausted to put up much of a fight), but naturally, upon his departure he gave Kōki that look which was becoming detrimental for his health. His heart really shouldn’t be beating so sporadically, should it? What if he had some heart condition? Then Akashi would feel guilty and maybe quit pressuring him. 

"You’re not going to see me for at least two weeks, Kōki."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Akashi winced at the platitude and Kōki almost did too. Remembering that they were in a long-distance relationship as well as being full-time students did nothing to help the separation. "Sorry," he said, brushing his fingers against the back of Akashi’s hand as he bit on his lower lip. Better than to wait for it to start trembling or whatever kind of weakness he would show. 

Akashi’s thumb was suddenly brushing over it to stop the compulsive worrying. Kōki tried to pull back quicker but Akashi was swift enough to press a light kiss to his mouth. His attention was completely caught by the way his nails dug ever-so-slightly into his neck, how his teeth hypocritically grazed his lip, and how their fringes mingled for the barest second that they were connected, before Akashi turned away and walked to where his chauffeur was gaping openly at them both. Kōki shut the door rather than watch him leave, leaning his forehead against it with a groan. 

Akashi was right, in the end, which was an annoyingly obnoxious feature of his for which Kōki stubbornly decided he wouldn’t forgive him.


	48. AkaFuri

It always surprised Seijūrō just how much free time Kōki had. It shouldn’t, in all honesty, what with his very normal grades (except for languages and literature, which he had some kind of gift for) and his two extra-curriculars. 

He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, though, when Kōki was able to relax completely under the kotatsu with a book, Seijūrō trapped reading a journal about business management in preparation of taking over the American branch of the company on his twenty-first birthday (only two years away now and time only seemed to speed up). 

It wasn’t that the journal wasn’t interesting, but one free day was all he asked for. He wasn’t naïve or idiotic either; his father knew when he was going to Kōki’s and always gave him more to do in the hope that their relationship would fizzle out, even if he presented himself as being accepting of it. 

Kōki finished the final page and closed the book with a contented sigh, dropping his head onto the table and closing his eyes. Seijūrō turned away, back to the cold paper, feeling the burn in his trapezius. Ah, he’d worked for too long, even though he hadn’t gotten halfway through the journal. Without Seijūrō noticing, Kōki slid up to him, taking his hand from where he’d started digging his fingers into the burn to relieve the tension. Placing a kiss there (Seijūrō almost smiled at how ridiculous it was that the tension left the spot at that, and leant back into him, haphazardly dropping the paper), he wrapped his arms and legs around Seijūrō’s waist. “Almost done?” he mumbled, and Seijūrō almost shivered when a sigh brushed over his skin. 

"Not even close."

"Then carry on," he said chastisingly, though _how_ he expected Seijūrō to work effectively when he was kissing the back of his neck and the heel of his right foot teasingly brushing higher up Seijūrō’s left thigh he had no idea. 

"I suppose…" he paused and Kōki waited, though Seijūrō could see a wicked smile on his face in the reflection of the glass cabinet in front of them. Playing along, he turned to kiss him deeply until he’d coaxed another sigh from him and Kōki’d started clutching his shoulders to pull him closer. He was blushing when Seijūrō pulled back—no matter how shameless he acted, the blush betrayed him every time—"I suppose I won’t be disowned for not reading one journal."

Although Kōki didn’t seem to be in the state of mind to understand what Seijūrō was saying, he recognised the intent, falling back so he was lying on the floor, pulling Seijūrō with him. “I’ll waste time with you.” It hadn’t been a question but Kōki still nodded, his fingers tangling in his hair and dragging out the last of the built-up tension.


	49. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grim Reaper AU (based on dead like me)

Kōki didn’t expect his life to be cut so short.

That, in itself, he assumed was perfectly normal. No one woke up, saw that it was the 3rd of February, and cheerily thought, ‘Oh yes, today is the day I die!’ before going on with all they had to do for the rest of their life.

Which would ultimately end at thirteen minutes past eight that evening.

He hadn’t done half of what he needed by that time, call his parents to wish them a happy anniversary, answer that text from his brother asking if he could stay round for a couple of weeks the month after, place more orders for vases because he was notoriously clumsy and had already dropped half of them, buy some more cat food and get back to Kagami about helping with the coaching of his basketball team, and to be honest that was all he thought about as he stood by the side of the road, watching the body that was creepily familiar yet slightly distorted, and Fukuda hysterically calling out his name.

It was disorienting. He was both there and here, and unless he went deeply into theoretical physics it was completely impossible.

Or, at least, his body was there, and he was here.

He hadn’t felt the impact of the car, which had already sped round the corner, whether through panic or premeditation, just… moved. Without realising.

He jolted when someone tapped on his shoulder, just as he was considering trying to get back into his body and hopefully stop Fukuda from trying to get him breathing again whilst crying at the same time.

"Furihata Kōki?" The speaker, a blue haired man slightly smaller than himself smiled when Kōki nodded. "Come with me."

"What?"

He kept his hand on Kōki’s shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly.

"So… I’m moving on?" he asked, not entirely sure whether the other boy would understand. He tried to look around himself for a white light that he could walk in to, but saw nothing.

He paused before shaking his head. “It’s a bit more difficult with you. You need to accompany me and someone will explain it to you.”

"There was a mistake?" he asked hopefully

He paused, motioned to a restaurant near where they were standing and walked away. Kōki scurried after him, after one last look to his body and the arriving paramedics. “They… they’re going to take my body away.”

The boy nodded and didn’t stop walking.

"But…"

"This isn’t a mistake. You were meant to die today."

He didn’t keep the door open for him, but Kōki didn’t realise until he’d walked through it, feeling as though every cell that made up his body had disintegrated before reforming on the other side; he could only hope in the right places.

"I’m Kuroko, by the way."

Kōki, still looking back at the door and trying to work out what had just happened, nodded even though he hadn’t entirely registered what he’d said. He sat at an occupied table and looked expectantly at Kōki.

"I…"

"Sit down."

It was the other man at the table who spoke, who had bright red hair and, even though this place was the most casual fast food restaurant he’d ever seen, was wearing a suit, the jacket folded on his lap.

Kōki wasn’t sure what it was about people who wore suits and looked as if they should be sitting in a leather sofa with a brandy in their hand, listening to classical music in the dark, but he obeyed immediately, sitting next to Kuroko nervously.

"Have you worked out what we are?" he asked, watching Kōki from across the table with eyes that were filled with way too much intelligence for someone who didn’t seem more than about twenty.

Kōki swallowed and chewed on his lip. “Some kind of guide for souls?”

The man nodded. “Grim reapers, basically.”

Kōki glanced at Kuroko, who nodded.

"So… what’s that to do with me?"

Neither of them answered for a moment, until Kuroko gave him a look. “Well, because you have to join us, Furihata-kun.”

Two massive shocks in one day, and for some reason Kōki felt his pulse peak to what he was sure was an all-time high, even though his body had been driven off in a vehicle a minute beforehand. “You… want me to kill people?”

"Not kill," Kuroko said. The redhead narrowed his eyes, sending a chill down Kōki’s back. "We free their souls. The reaper who freed yours has filled his quota and moved on, and so you have to take his place."

"Quota?"

"We all have a certain amount of souls to free."

"H-how many would I have?"

"No way to know," the redhead interjected. "You only know once you’ve freed the last one."

Kōki took a gasping breath in, brought his knees up so he could hide his face in his thighs, and continued gasping instead of breathing. Could someone who was dead faint? Or even hyperventilate? Why did he need to breathe anyway if his body was speeding off away from him?

"Furihata-kun," Kuroko said, soothingly rubbing circles into his back. "It’s going to be fine. It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise."

Kōki turned his head to glance at him, grateful that he hadn’t started sobbing. “How can it not be as bad as it seems?” He managed to say it with only a couple of small tremours.

"We get well paid for it," Kuroko said.

"I would rather be bankrupt and alive than rich and dead."

"Undead."

Kōki gaped at the redhead. “Huh?”

One eyebrow twitched, only slightly, but enough that Kōki could tell he was aggravated. “We’re not dead. We can do everything living humans can.”

Maybe it was the fact that he’d died today. Maybe it was that he’d suddenly realised that the redhead had beautiful features and he always put his foot in it when he was around someone he found attractive, but instead of apologising as he usually would, what came out was a sarcastic retort: “Oh, I’m sorry; would you prefer living-impaired?”

Kuroko spluttered on his drink and Kōki met the redhead’s glare for a few seconds more before giving in and looking away. “I’m sorry,” he tried again. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

"Accepted," he said stiffly. "You’ve been through a lot today." It didn’t sound sympathetic, even if the words themselves were gentle and accepting. Kōki shivered at the cold tone of his voice.

"Akashi-kun."

The redhead looked at Kuroko.

"He has nowhere to stay tonight."

"Why should that be any concern of mine?"

"You are in charge of this group and you have to take care of those below you."

"I don’t—"

"Please be quiet, Furihata-kun," Kuroko said, lifting a hand politely whilst locked in some kind of staring contest with Akashi. After a moment, Akashi broke away.

"Fine."

Kōki was filled with immediate, intense respect for Kuroko, looking at him wonderingly before noticing that Akashi had gotten up and taken hold of his arm to pull him up.

He stumbled out of the restaurant after him, gaped at the bloodstain which was still visible before focussing on the back of Akashi’s head.

"No one can see you until you’ve been buried or cremated, and in this time you can also pass through solid objects. Until then, you have no duties, though you will be shadowing Kuroko or someone else in my group so you know what to do when the time comes."

"How long does that usually take?"

"In this weather, it’ll be done in just under a week."

"Oh," Kōki said in a small voice, dissipating and reforming when someone walked through him. He coughed and shuddered. The sensation made him believe his soul could whizz off and disappear at any moment and it would be like dying all over again.

Akashi looked at him and sighed, his eyes softening as Kōki disappeared again. “This way,” he said, putting a hand on Kōki’s back and leading him down an empty alleyway.

They only walked five minutes before coming to a large, traditional house. “Here,” he said. Kōki froze and looked up at it.

"Really?"

Akashi opened the door for him and Kōki gingerly stepped over the threshold, gaping at how lavishly decorated it was inside. “I… you have really good taste,” he choked out, blushing when Akashi looked back at him. “Please pardon the intrusion,” he continued meekly.

"It’s no trouble. You’ll only be staying a couple of weeks."

He motioned with his head for Kōki to follow him upstairs, pointed at a door to tell him that en-suite room would be his and that there were fresh towels in the closet. “You can borrow some clothes from me for the meantime.”

"Thank you."

Akashi opened the door opposite to his and entered, leaving the door open as he rifled through the closet, selecting some clothes. Half seemed likely to fit; Akashi wasn’t a lot taller than him, but the other half seemed to be for someone much taller and not as slight.

He was wordlessly handed the clothes and dismissed with a wave of his hand. Kōki left quickly, but not before he’d turned back to see that Akashi was standing with his hand over his face, and the door slamming shut with a bang. 


	50. MayuAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ttauriell on tumblr

Since Chihiro had been trained to notice that which others would not, he realised quicker the extent to which Akashi had changed. It wasn’t the changed way he spoke, or even his eyes that struck him. It was his smile.

The way he’d smiled before was always with confidence, with a seductive tilt of his head no matter to whom he was speaking. Rather than being for any  _real_  reason to smile, it had always been when an opponent had made a mistake, or other times, just after he kissed Chihiro.  _That_ smile was one which Chihiro had hated to love, or loved to hate, one when Akashi knew he was the puppet-master, the blindfold over Chihiro’s eyes and the shackles around his mind.

But this was different. Once they were alone, Chihiro thoughtlessly pecked his lips, a gesture which, before, would either make Akashi smile at the knowledge of how infatuated and addicted to him Chihiro was, or push him down until he was kneeling and could only place his forehead against Akashi’s hip and almost reverently wait for permission.

He could have kidded himself that his mind was still his own, and late at night it was, when he would imagine breaking off all contact and leaving Rakuzan early—it wasn’t like he cared about his grades, and everyone just ended up in the ground anyway. The mind frame would last until the next morning, when it would be so close to the tip of his tongue, but he would almost choke on it and Akashi would say nothing but the tilt of his lips would say everything as he would pull Chihiro into a world-bending kiss which would make him realise that he wasn’t done here, not by a long shot.

Akashi blinked at him, his lips parted and unsmiling.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

It was probably his over-reactive and rather cynical mind set gained from all the books he had read, but the evident shock was making him wonder if maybe Akashi had no memories of what had happened between them.  _That_  would be just the kind of luck he would get, to fall for such a person and then lose him in such a way; this was entirely his fault, after all.

“I’ll go now. Just… forget what happened,” he said quickly, turning to leave.

“Mayuzumi-senpai,” Akashi said, taking hold of his wrist.

He really had changed, and Chihiro shook his head. “Don’t call me like that. It feels weird.”

He didn’t look back, and Akashi moved his hand to interlace their fingers. “But… what do I call you, then?”

“Just call me like you always have.”

Akashi paused, before finally saying his name, quickly adding ‘senpai’ to the end of it. “It’s just…” he continued. Chihiro watched as his brows furrowed. “I thought you were attracted to _him_.”

Chihiro wondered of whom he was talking, before realising that it was  _himself_ , or at least his other self. “This is really confusing,” he said, and something in Akashi’s eyes flashed.

“I know,” he said. “But for whom in particular?”

Chihiro glared for a moment—his selfishness wasn’t something he was particularly proud of but he couldn’t just  _change_  like that—and he pulled Akashi closer, leaning forward to kiss him again.

There wasn’t much else he could do, in all fairness. Akashi still fit perfectly against him, still sent a sensation like pins and needles over the small of his back and bright lights behind his closed eyes. Akashi clutched hold of his hand, the other on his shoulder, then on his neck, his thumb stroking down his throat as it moved to his chest.  _That_  was similar, as if he was being mapped, yet not the same, not like he was affirming to Chihiro that it all belonged to  _him_  but rather with trembling fingers as if he wasn’t sure whether he would stay.

Chihiro caught the hint of a smile when he pulled away before he ducked his head down, a smile as if he was finally strong enough to shoulder a burden without it driving him to the ground, small with relief, or exhaustion (still hazy, he just couldn’t tell enough to be sure).

“I don’t know,” he said. Akashi tightened his arm around his waist. “But I’ll hate myself if we don’t try.”


	51. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by bi3n3nstich on tumblr

**AkaFuri – Creation**

It was rather like Kōki was creating a world of his own.

Seijūrō didn’t  _blame_  him for that; neither of their lives had ever been easy, but he seemed truly content like this, the red of the dress against his skin looking like a sunrise and the charcoal staining his fingers dark as he worked with quick, sure strokes. Seijūrō lifted his hands from the piano keys and stood so he could press a kiss to the side of his head and considered dragging him away when Kōki only frowned as if Seijūrō was being a nuisance. He doubted, so engrossed as he was in the landscape he was creating, that he had even really noticed anything.

Instead, he put the strap of the dress back on his shoulder whence it had fallen, felt quite victorious when, for the smallest second, Kōki pressed his cheek against Seijūrō’s hand and sat back at the piano to continue the piece.


	52. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on tumblr

**AkaFuri – forehead touching**

It was strange enough that Akashi had gotten to the point of considering that Kōki was a friend, but even stranger that it was Kōki he texted simply with the words, ‘ _I’m at the steps. Please come_ ’. Kōki made his excuses, dodged Riko going to grab his arm and ran off.

He slowed down when he caught sight of Akashi’s bright hair. He was sat at the top of the steps, people around giving him a wide berth.

It felt like his heart was falling separate from his body. He never got to see Akashi a lot, but every time just how much he felt for him hit like a tidal wave crashing against his body and tear him apart as if he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

It was a secret, something he could never divulge, something he could never think about acting or dwelling on too long except at the darkest and latest point of the night, when despair would take hold and he would curl into himself, reading the messages Akashi had sent him as a talisman against the fear that he would always be alone.

It wasn’t _too_ much to hope that Akashi would fall for him at some point down the line.

Akashi caught sight of him, with eyes that were more dull than usual and Kōki took the steps two at a time to reach him, thinking about the first time he’d met Akashi on the same steps, wanting nothing more than to run the other direction. He paused before sitting beside him, aching to be able to hold his hand.

“It’s not any easier,” he started. “To lose.”

“I… I know.”

The muscles around his eye twitched. “I think the coach doesn’t want me to be captain anymore.”

Kōki tried to speak out, to comfort or join in any derision he may have, but could only stare at him with his mouth open like some sort of halfwit.

“It’s the right decision.”

“How is it the right decision? How could _anyone_ do a better job than you?”

“I lost again, Furihata.”

That tone, steely and final, which would have made him tremble with absolute, debilitating fear only a few months ago now served to rile him up, and he grasped hold of Akashi’s wrist. “So what? How you react _now_ shows what kind of leader you are, Akashi-san. Everything you do is incredible, but everyone loses, you just have to pick yourself up and fight. And you _know_ how close it was, the main reason you didn’t win was because of your leg—”

“My leg?” Kōki stopped at his odd expression.

“Your injury?”

“How did you know?”

Kōki frowned. “I know how you move when you’re not hurt.”

“Even Mibuchi didn’t notice.”

He didn’t entirely know what to say to that, especially when Akashi suddenly smiled, touched Kōki’s cheek with his fingertips and put his forehead against his.

He couldn’t breathe, scared that even with the slightest movement he would awake. He’d had dreams like this before, after all, when every sensation was so real, even heightened, that when he woke up he wasn’t sure what was real, reaching to the other side of the bed as if Akashi would be laying there and fighting back the sense of loss when he realised he was alone.

Akashi’s eyes were closed, his thumb tracing a line like fire against his cheekbone.

“C-could I…?” He tried to talk, before stopping and closing his eyes swiftly as he saw Akashi start to open his.

“I was waiting for you to make the first move, actually.”

Kōki’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse was hot and hard in his neck, and he forced himself to watch, meet Akashi’s eyes for the shortest moment before running his hands through his bright hair. Akashi sighed with something close to bliss, curved a hand around Kōki’s knee so tight that it almost hurt, and his shoulders were shaking when Kōki leant in closer, still scared to death and beyond and hoping beyond hope that things would turn out as they should.


	53. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on tumblr

Kōki had to admit, as clever and academically intelligent as Akashi was, he really could be an idiot sometimes. The problem was, he just  _didn’t_  know how to act in a relationship and seemed entirely unaware of boundaries that had to be in place when being in a relationship with someone who was shy and had a nervous disposition.

As in, he had no trouble with kissing him in public and calling him all varieties of pet names and endearments. Kōki enjoyed it when they were alone (even actively encouraged it), but it was just embarrassing when he could see Kuroko hiding a smile and Kagami staring at them with eyes wider than he’d ever seen them.

He eyed Akashi, who was sitting beside him in the restaurant, one hand absentmindedly stroking Kōki’s thigh as he discussed something which seemed both too serious and too complicated with Midorima for being sat in a fast-food restaurant.

“Can you pass me the salt?” he asked. It would have been entirely innocent (as befitted a family restaurant), but Akashi decided to take the opportunity to kiss his neck.

“Of course, love.”

Kōki groaned and hid his face against Akashi’s arm as Kuroko gave up pretending that it wasn’t funny and Takao quickly followed suit. “You idiot,” he said quietly, sneaking a peek at Akashi to make sure that he wasn’t too aggravated.

Which, if his amused smile was to give any light on the matter, he wasn’t. “Maybe if you didn’t react I would stop doing it,” he said, ignoring Kōki’s furious expression and kissing his forehead.

Kōki regretted everything.


	54. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on tumblr

**Prompt - engagement sex**

“Are you afraid?”

There was a tiny, breathless edge to Kōki’s voice as he asked. The nails of his right hand were digging into Seijūrō’s back in time with his movements, the left shaking as he gripped the sheets beneath them.

“Of course not,” he answered, hiding that he was lying by leaning forward to kiss him, pulling his hand forcibly from where it was still beside him, holding it like he was a manacle instead of twining their fingers together. It would just remind him that after they’d finished here, they’d have no reason to not inform his father of the reason for the ring on Kōki’s finger.

Kōki’s tongue was against his lips, in his mouth, and the taste was everything which was both achingly familiar and achingly terrifying, but he slipped his hand out of Seijūrō’s grip and placed it against his chest, pushing him away gently.

Seijūrō almost didn’t listen, when he could see just how close Kōki was, and how his legs tightened around his waist as if he didn’t really mean it, but the second push was harder, coupled with a quiet but firm, “ _Wait_.”

He took a couple of seconds to gather himself, trying to remember what he’d just said before he propped himself up on his elbows, already missing Kōki’s warmth.

“I know that you’re scared,” he said, meeting Seijūrō’s eyes directly the way he never would have just a year ago, much less in a situation like this. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t, to be honest.”

Seijūrō raised an eyebrow, leaning in again. Even though the breath Kōki took in shook like a leaf, he still flipped them over before Seijūrō could kiss him, blushing bright red when Seijūrō bit his lip hard and his hips reflexively pressed deeper into Kōki’s warmth. “S-Sei, wait.” He sat still until Seijūrō stopped moving, instead reaching up to tangle his hands in soft hair. “You are scared, and it doesn’t matter, it’s just if you regret your choice—” Seijūrō cut him off by sitting up to kiss him.

“Don’t even think that, Kōki,” he said, before biting his neck as he stroked down Kōki’s spine with the tips of his fingers—it always had the most effect—and the other hand reached between them to Kōki’s length. He was rewarded for his efforts when Kōki squirmed in his lap, his arms tight around Seijūrō’s shoulders and face buried in his neck as he came with short gasps that fanned against Seijūrō’s skin. Still too shy to be any more vocal.

“One day I’m going to make you scream,” he said, breathless when Kōki tightened around him, when he knew Kōki wouldn’t be able to hear or understand anything.

He didn’t know whether every time he was with Kōki the intensity increased, or whether every time he forgot just  _how_  intense it was, but either way it surprised him yet again how Kōki felt like a supernova against his skin and trapped his body so that he could do nothing more than tremble in his arms.

Kōki was watching him when he opened his eyes and gave a small, almost quivering smile. “Still don’t regret it?”

Seijūrō didn’t answer with anything more than a shake of his head, pulling the sheets from under them when Kōki shivered.

“I am scared,” he admitted. “My father never expected to arrange a marriage, as long as I married well. He’d considered omiai, but I think my mother talked him out of it, but—”

“But I don’t constitute a… good  _bride_.” Seijūrō closed his eyes.

“He didn’t expect that we would last.”

“I know. I didn’t either.” He smiled as he said it, the beaming smile that Seijūrō could only stare at.

“And now?”

Looking away almost bashfully, he leant forwards to kiss him, taking a tight hold of Seijūrō’s hand so he could feel the metal of the ring pressing against his finger. “I figure we’ve got as good a chance as anybody.”


	55. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joint request by two anons on tumblr.

Kōki wasn’t sure if Seijūrō would allow him to survive the night.

He wasn’t even kidding. By morning, he’d be dead and cold in some grave far away from home, and Seijūrō would move on thinking of him as nothing more than an inconvenience that made his life a pain for the past year, and it would be  _all_  his fault.

After all, it hadn’t exactly been Seijūrō’s idea that a year into their relationship they still hadn’t slept together, but it  _had_  been his idea to invite Kōki on a get-away in one of his (many) holiday homes, and from the way he was kissing a line down Kōki’s neck and fiddling with the hem of his top (borrowed from Seijūrō even though he’d brought more than enough) he was hoping tonight would be the night.

It wasn’t that Kōki didn’t want to. He did, enough that the mere thought of it was enough to make him blush approximately the same colour as Seijūrō’s hair and have an intense need to demand that Seijūrō join him, no matter what he was doing or where he was.

But he was still nervous, and he knew enough about sex to know that being nervous only made it harder to… finish the act.

The house was beautiful, like nothing he’d ever seen before. Much smaller than the manor in Kyoto or even the smaller elegant cottage in Tokyo, it was made of naturally-occurring rock arranged in a pattern that made it seem as if the house had developed naturally throughout the years. The back wall was entirely glass windows and door, overlooking the private stretch of west-facing beach, and only a short walk through some grassland until the sand was reached. He could only stare at it for moments upon moments once the driver had deposited their bags in the hallway, and watch a breath-taking sunset over the sea as if he’d never seen the sun before.

“Kōki?”

“It’s so beautiful.”

He could see Seijūrō smirk from the corner of his eye.  “Not as much as you,” he said, frowning when Kōki didn’t react. “Do you want to go down to the beach now and leave the bags for when we get back?” he asked, stepping into his line of sight.

“No; it’s almost over anyway,” he said, looking over his shoulder longingly as he followed Seijūrō.

Making dinner and tidying after was nothing short of a disaster, during which Seijūrō touched him inappropriately more times than he could count. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before (it happened a lot, in fact), but it only served to heighten Kōki’s realisation that this _was_  different. He’d seen the bedroom, known that unless he banished Seijūrō to a sofa or the tiny bed in the box room down the hall, they’d be sleeping in the same bed instead of one of them being in a spare room.

Maybe it would be easier if he just asked outright what Seijūrō was expecting they do, and almost convinced himself several times before changing the subject suddenly. It didn’t help that Seijūrō was completely calm and seemingly unaffected.

He excused himself after having done most of the washing up, leaving a couple of pans for Seijūrō to do and bolted to one of the bathrooms to splash cold water on his face when he realised that it was getting close to ten in the evening and if anything  _was_  going to happen (and it would have to, wouldn’t it?) it would be happening very soon.

It was when he was glaring at himself in the mirror, his hair dripping cold water over his face that he finally muffled a laugh. “This is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous, Kou,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t matter that he isn’t a virgin, he  _knows_  you are. He probably expects to take the lead.” He slapped his cheeks. “You are going to go  _out_  there and you are going to be seductive, even if it kills you in the end.”

He nodded, the most he could do (it wasn’t as if he could shake his own hand), looked over himself critically, considered walking out naked before the thought almost made him faint with embarrassment, and walked out of the door with purpose and a mission.

Which dissipated as soon as he saw Seijūrō fast asleep on the sofa.

Seijūrō didn’t sleep enough or easily and traveling must have taken a lot out of him to have fallen asleep so quickly, and Kōki watched him for a moment, feeling himself calm down. It would happen when it happened; there was no need to worry that it had already been a year or what he may or may not have done with other people previously.

He gently lowered himself on the sofa next to Seijūrō, catching him when he started to slide closer and trying to rearrange them both without waking him, ending with Seijūrō lying on him with his head on his chest and giving small sighs whenever Kōki couldn’t resist and ran his fingers through his hair.

This was enough for now, he thought when Seijūrō tightened his arms around his waist.


	56. AkaFuri

_**((In which Seijūrō wonders who is in charge))** _

Kōki’s habit of talking fast whenever he was excited was something that Seijūrō had filed in his head as something to analyse when he had the time. Particularly for any specific feelings he had about it (very much unable to decide whether his interest in someone who was, frankly, entirely normal was due to the whole  _novelty_  of it or due to Kōki himself), but when he let himself go and forgot about  _analysing_  every part of Kōki, it naturally fitted into ‘endearing’.

As did his expressive movements with his hands, though they were limited right now due to his hold on an umbrella. Seijūrō listened as he chattered, only able to follow the gist of it but something about it being fascinating. His excitement was childlike in its innocence. He put an arm around his waist, which he hadn’t  _really_  done before—he even surprised himself how tentative he was with this relationship—and Kōki lost his track a little, startled as he looked at Seijūrō.

He was only silent for a short moment before he continued, not able to hide a pleased smile. Seijūrō berated himself for not doing this more often.

Or maybe it had been a good idea to do it rarely, almost like a secret weapon to bend Kōki to his will.

Kōki, seeming to be quite distracted by Seijūrō’s fingers stroking his hip and forgetting that he had an umbrella in his hand and had flung it behind them. It was raining quite a bit by that point, so almost immediately they were drenched, Kōki mortified. Seijūrō laughed as Kōki gave him a shy smile. “At least I didn’t hit anyone this time.” He looked at the umbrella rolling on the pavement, freezing when Seijūrō took hold of his hand.

If there was one thing he knew about Kōki, it was just how  _much_  of a romantic sap he could be, and he wouldn’t be using his intelligence for anything worthwhile if he didn’t use it to possess all of Kōki he could.

So he pulled him into a kiss, his fingers in wet hair as Kōki’s shaking hands rested on his chest, kept it chaste for a few moments before encouraging Kōki to open his mouth and deepen the kiss, coaxing a moan from him. He gripped at Seijūrō’s shoulders when he pulled back.

“I don’t want either of us to catch a cold,” he said, before picking up the umbrella and sheltering them again. Kōki gave him a calculating look, eyes dark and… very confident.

Seijūrō wondered if maybe his plan had backfired a bit and  _who_  exactly was doing the manipulating around here.

He couldn’t be the only one hiding a part of himself, after all.


	57. MayuAka

Seijūrō was becoming more and more convinced that sleeping alone was the best option.

He hadn’t expected it, that was the problem, but every night Chihiro managed to wrench the covers from him, keeping _him_ in the height of comfort and warmth whilst Seijūrō was left shivering. It was at boiling point when it occurred in three consecutive nights.

To his credit, Seijūrō _did_ try to wake him gently by stroking his hair and kissing his neck, but that only lead to Chihiro irritated, batting him away with a hand in his slumber, as if he was nothing more than a _fly_. And that had forced Seijūrō’s hand, so he bit his shoulder and straightened up as Chihiro jumped awake.

He was always more expressive when he woke up and Seijūrō smiled (slightly sadistically, he knew that) at his bewildered face before it settled into his usual mask. “Did you just bite me?”

Seijūrō nodded. “You’re taking all the blankets. I’m cold.”

“And the biting…?”

“Spur of the moment. I have to be impulsive sometimes outside of the court.”

Chihiro’s eyes narrowed. “I dreamt another head was growing out of my shoulder.” Seijūrō was unsure how to respond to such information and so he filed it away in his mind for future analysis. “Why don’t you just get another blanket?”

“Because they’re my blankets!”

Chihiro raised his hands in surrender, muttering, “Stop being such a _child_ ,” under his breath, meeting Seijūrō’s unamused eyes and rolling his own. “Yes, I am aware what that makes me.” He shifted uncomfortably, and once again Seijūrō couldn’t work out whether he was being serious in his discomfort about their ages or putting it on to keep Seijūrō on the edge. Personally, Seijūrō saw no issue when he was the mature one in their relationship as it was. Two years, even when Chihiro was legally an adult, just wasn’t _that_ much of a difference.

“I’m still cold,” he said.

Chihiro untangled himself from the blankets. “You might as well sleep in my arms then, seeing as I can’t control how much I move in my sleep.”

It wasn’t immaturity that caused Seijūrō’s brain to shut down for a moment, and it definitely wasn’t Chihiro’s words that caused his heart to skip what felt like several beats. When Chihiro raised an eyebrow his thoughts and heart picked up double the speed as if to compensate; he was unwillingly making connection after connection. Could he gain some sort of leverage from this? It was a much more affectionate gesture than he usually offered, and even his kisses always had some sort of ulterior motive. It was how this relationship _worked_.

“You know, you really don’t have to analyse everything.”

Seijūrō considered pinning him down and kissing him instead, because _that_ was one area where he could have total control, but paused when Chihiro took hold of his wrist and tugged it gently. “I am tired, Akashi.”

Seijūrō shuffled closer. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

Black widows killed after mating, he thought. But that was inconsequential.

Arms trapped him against a warm chest, and Seijūrō pulled the cover over the two of them, wondering if maybe this was _too_ warm. The room was still quite cold, but wherever he was touching Chihiro felt like a furnace. His heart was beating steadily against his cheek, whilst Seijūrō’s was flitting like a hummingbird, only peaking even more when he realised it was very likely Chihiro could feel it. He waited for the gloating, readying himself to kick out or, if he would listen, banish Chihiro to the floor. Instead, he froze when Chihiro’s fingers combed gently through his hair and he whispered, “You can relax, Seijūrō,” against the top of his head.

Seijūrō’s breath caught in his throat, every instinct telling him to pull away and remain solitary at the other side of the bed, even if it meant he had to shiver throughout the entire night. Chihiro’s fingers were incessant through his hair, heady bliss surrounded him before he could push it away.

He hid his face against Chihiro’s chest, once again having to fight the emotions that rose steadily to the surface.

 


	58. MayuKuro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr

“I really don’t like Valentines’ day.”

Chihiro shrugged at the end of the sentence, a perfect level of nonchalance. Tetsuya blinked before looking at him.

“Is this because you find it’s all become much too commercialised, or is it something more bitter? Have you never received a Valentines’ gift?”

“It’s nothing to do with anything like that,” Chihiro said gruffly, but he was pretty sure that Tetsuya’s sharp eyes could catch the mildest of blushes in the midst of a blackout. “It… it puts way too much pressure on people. Especially for a young relationship.” He followed suite when Tetsuya started walking away from the shade under the tree and his small hands gripped his coat to pull it tighter around him. It was much too cold, even for the middle of winter and although Chihiro hated to admit it, he really should have brought a thicker coat like Tetsuya had suggested.

“But when the relationship is nearing a year…” Tetsuya said, alluding to their own.

“Then that’s when the commercialisation aspect has an effect. The chocolates are cheaper that day anyway.”

“Did you think about making them yourself?”

“No.” And _that_ was truth like nothing else. Spending time in the kitchen, unless he had some meal ready-made, was just not worth the hassle. The less time he spent in there, the less time it would take to clean. Time that could be better spent in much worthier pursuits. “But it’s not like I didn’t think of anything. Here.” He took the book he’d hurriedly picked up that morning from his pocket and handed it over. Tetsuya stopped walking. “Well, it’s more of a loan. But you haven’t read it.”

There was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Chihiro stared at it for a second before Tetsuya’s ever-so-slightly seductive head tilt made him lose his train of thought (no one, and he really meant, _no one_ else would have noticed something so subtle, but Chihiro had made it his life’s mission to understand Tetsuya like no one else). “Thank you,” he said simply.

“And…” He kicked a stick away from where it was lying on the path to delay the words that would no doubt embarrass him. “As it is, my gift is also… my heart.” He wasn’t entirely sure how Tetsuya was reacting, although his face only showed the slightest change of expression. “I’m old enough to know what I want, and that’s you, so…” he trailed off and forced a smile which probably closer resembled a grimace.

Tetsuya always kissed in a way that strangely suited his personality, and there was no change now. His hands were in Chihiro’s hair before he’d realised that he’d approached, he was on his tiptoes and urging Chihiro to close the distance by gently tugging at the silvery strands. He was entirely straight-forward; there were no coy glances to the side or from under dark eyelashes, and the blush in his cheeks Chihiro assumed was due to the cold. He was warm—almost enviously so—when Chihiro held his waist, and willing when Chihiro deepened the kiss, a fire in his chest warming his entire body, before pulling back. “As bad as that line was, Chihiro-kun, you can’t live without a heart,” he said lightly, only the smallest waver to his voice when Chihiro drew him closer again. Right now, the line he’d pulled didn’t bother him when it had worked out so well. “So you can have mine.”

He muffled a laugh in Tetsuya’s hair from _just_ how ridiculous it sounded, but decided to make a point of using those types of metaphors more often.

 


	59. AkaFuri

Of course it worried Fukuda when he woke up and Furihata  _still_  hadn’t come back, and he wanted to kick himself when he dug through his suitcase and realised that he’d forgotten his phone. What had happened; a kidnapping? Murder? Or had he decided to sleep somewhere else and not graced Fukuda with any sort of explanation? He actually felt like a mother anxiously awaiting her child’s return from his first party.

He pushed his suitcase under his bed and eyed where Furihata had dropped his things haphazardly before Fukuda had thrown a pillow at him and he’d made his best effort to rearrange the bags neatly as the door between his and Kawahara’s room opened and, almost half-asleep, Kawahara made his way to Furihata’s bed and flopped on it.

“Kawahara—” Fukuda started, dreading having to tell him of their friend’s disappearance. They both knew, after all, that when it came to street smarts Furihata probably had a double digit IQ.

“Hey, where’s Furi?” he interrupted, sitting up.

“I don’t know!”

“You mean he hasn’t come back all night?”

Fukuda fell back on the floor and Kawahara jumped on his bed, his head hanging over the side to peer at him. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Is he dead in a ditch somewhere?”

“Don’t say that!”

“Who’s writing the eulogy?”

“Kawahara, just shut up.” He paused, rifled through his bag to check again if he’d shoved his phone into the far recesses of some crap-filled pocket, but to no avail. “Probably his parents,” he added. “Aren’t you worried?”

Kawahara sighed and slipped off the bed. “Well, think about it. We’re here with Rakuzan aren’t we?” Fukuda nodded. “So the most reasonable explanation is that he’s with Akashi.”

“ _What_?” It was, above anything, his worry for Kōki that had him react so violently, and Kawahara frowned at him. After all, Furihata  _was_  incredibly innocent, and Akashi Seijūrō seemed to be anything but at the best of times.

The door opened, and Furihata’s cheery voice almost chirruped a greeting, cut short when Fukuda dived on him, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “You’re alive!”

“Y-yes?” He closed his eyes and grimaced when Fukuda shook him by his shoulders for good measure. “Don’t; you’ll bruise my brain if you keep on doing that.”

“I was worried, okay? I had no idea where you were!”

“Really?” He struggled against Fukuda’s grip for a few seconds before giving up. “I did send you a text—”

“I forgot my phone!”

“Okay!” He raised his hands, sent Kawahara a startled look, and smiled apologetically as Fukuda finally let go. “It’s just…” he sighed and pressed his lips together in an attempt not to smile, even though it kept on breaking out like clouds being blown away from obscuring the sun. “I didn’t really want to leave.” He beamed before scuttling to his bags, one of those beams that had Fukuda reeling, and almost having to blink away dark spots from his vision from its brilliancy. He exchanged an unnerved look with Kawahara. “And I might stay out again tonight, if you don’t mind.” He was still turned away but even his ears were red. “Kawahara, why don’t you just stay here instead of in your room? Here, I’ll take my things…” he trailed off when Fukuda stopped him from picking up his bag.

“Okay, what exactly happened last night? Tell me exactly where you were.”

He looked away bashfully, and Fukuda felt like he had to punch a wall just to get that, frankly, beautiful expression out of his head. From Kawahara’s gaping expression he was having the same problem. “I… I was with Akashi,” he admitted, unable to stop himself from beaming again.

Kawahara caught his attention when Furihata had hidden his face in his hands and mouthed, “Since when did he get so cute?” before sticking out his tongue when Fukuda waved him off.

“You were safe, right?”

Furihata eyed him. “Yes,” he said, sounding a little confused.

“And he didn’t pressure you in any way, right?”

“No!”

He heard Kawahara mutter, “Damn it,” under his breath and watched as Furihata gathered his bags and rocked on the balls of his feet, looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds.

Fukuda sighed. “Go back to him. Now.”

“Really? Because I won’t if you want to do something. Really!” It wasn’t very convincing when he was edging towards the door, but Fukuda gave him credit for how earnest he _sounded_.

“You don’t get to spend much time with him. Go on.” Furihata dived out before he’d even finished talking and Fukuda followed to shut the door behind his swiftly disappearing back, refusing to meet Kawahara’s eyes after.

“I call dibs.”

“What?”

“If it doesn’t work out with Akashi, I call dibs on him.”

He decided to blame his natural manly urges at the surge of possessiveness he felt. “That’s not fair,” he whined. “You can’t call dibs on a  _person_!”

“Just because you didn’t think quickly enough to call dibs first!”

“Maybe I was distracted!”

Kawahara shrugged. “Not my problem.”

The manly urges were also the cause for diving on top of Kawahara to throttle the living daylights out of him.


	60. AkaFuri

Kōki looked up from his book when the iron clattered against the ironing board and, although he still felt a bit guilty, couldn’t help laughing when Seijūrō almost leapt out of his skin and shook his hand. “I burnt myself again,” he said, inspecting his hand with a sigh. 

"This is the third time today. Maybe I should—" 

 ”No,” he said, his eyes flashing as he grabbed hold of the iron again. “This is the only thing I haven’t been able to master, Kōki.” He winced when the steam coiled around his hand again and dropped the iron with a growl. 

Before he broke yet another one in his annoyance, Kōki chucked the book to one side and jumped off the sofa, darting around him to switch it off at the wall. “Take a break before you really hurt yourself.” 

"I’m not taking a break until I master it," he said, trying to reach around Kōki, and freezing when Kōki caught hold of his hand and kissed it. He hadn’t been with Seijūrō this long and not learnt the best ways to distract him. "What are you…?" He trailed off when Kōki kissed his hand again. 

 ”Did you get burnt anywhere else?” he asked, stepping closer and looking at him as seductively as he could manage without causing himself a heart attack from embarrassment. The corners of Seijūrō’s mouth turned up, and he tapped his neck, tightening his arms around Kōki when he kissed his throat and jaw. “Did I miss anywhere?” he asked, undoing his tie slowly—why he was wearing it Kōki didn’t understand. Seijūrō cupped the back of his head to bring him closer, tapping his bottom lip and sighing as Kōki kissed him. “Suitably distracted?” he said. 

"For now," he answered, that annoyingly devilish smirk on his face when Kōki glowered and pushed him against the wall to kiss him breathless. He wasn’t as petty as Seijūrō—of course not—but he wouldn’t allow a household appliance to beat him in commanding Seijūrō’s attention.


	61. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr

**AkaFuri – hand holding**

Kōki would have had to say that Seijūrō’s best, most endearing habit was how he played with Kōki’s hands. From what he could tell, it was entirely unconscious; whenever they were walking together or watching a film he would play incessantly with his fingers, trace over his palm as if he was reading into his future, sometimes pause at the pulse in his wrist and Kōki could only think that their pulses were changing to match.

His hand worked into Kōki’s, and Kōki curled around him, watching the ministrations with a smile. “You’re really cute,” he said, lifting Seijūrō’s hand to kiss his knuckles.

Seijūrō looked up from his book. “What?”

“You’re cute,” he repeated.

 He pressed his lips together and took hold of Kōki’s chin. “That’s not really what I want to hear.”

Whether he meant it to be menacing or seductive Kōki couldn’t tell, having pulled Seijūrō into a kiss before he could continue.


	62. AkaFuri

Seijūrō felt he had to blink a few times at the contents of his bag. It wasn’t believable, after all. He’d gotten over the childish notion that he was absolute, but recently he’d been so flawed (mostly forgetful) that he was starting to wonder whether it was better that he go back to being the  _other_  one. Forgetting a sweater in the middle of January when he lived four hours away, after all, was within the realm of ‘utterly ridiculous’.

He settled back, placing his chin on his knees as he glared at the offending item (the bag). Even though he’d been driven the entire way here (his father was so relieved at his being normal again that he had a lot more liberties now) and hadn’t had to step foot outside due to his and Furihata’s family having garages which lead straight into the house, forgetting something so essential showed just how out of practice he was with…  _livin_ g,of all things. Or maybe it was as simple as his refusal to have a personal maid? Did normal people forget these things?

The hesitant knock—Furihata’s—prompted Seijūrō to get up and begrudgingly open the door to the spare room (their relationship, having only gone on a couple of tentative dates wasn’t quite to the point of sharing a room, though the ease of only having to walk down the road to Kuroko’s had been the catalyst for Furihata’s nervous proposition that he borrow the room the night before Kuroko’s birthday meet). He had a sweater on. Seijūrō mentally cursed the intelligence of the masses and hoped Furihata wouldn’t realise and that going out in the almost-sub-zero climate outside wearing a t-shirt wouldn’t cause too much of an illness.

“We should leave,” he said.

“Uh… yeah.” It was all very casual, the way he picked up the present he’d wrapped the night before (with Furihata’s guidance but he didn’t particularly want to admit that) and tried to go past Furihata, but an arm blocked his way.

“Wear a jumper, Akashi-kun. It’s cold.”

Of all the rotten luck.

At least blushing wasn’t something that happened often to him, but he still had to admit that he’d forgotten one and wait for the teasing (for some inexplicable reason, Furihata found this inconvenient part of him amusing). Furihata hid a smile behind his hand, widened his eyes innocently when Seijūrō glared—which didn’t scare him anymore. Seijūrō’s entire  _life_  was one inconvenience after another.

“You could have asked to borrow one.”

Seijūrō stubbornly looked away, not softening even one bit when Furihata kissed his cheek and took his hand. “I’ll even let you pick.”

So  _patronising_. He tried to tug his hand away, sighed when Furihata’s fingers tightened over his own, and followed him to his room with the kind of obedience that only a few people had actually seen from him. He selected one without really looking, pulled it over his head and noticing that it was a little too big on him.

Furihata’s reaction was a little unbalancing, the way a breath caught in his throat, the colour in his cheeks heightened as his eyes darkened. Watching him, and deciding that this possessive side to him  _did_ , in fact, exist, Seijūrō didn’t bother to hide his smile.

“You can keep it,” he said quietly, now looking rather shocked with himself. Seijūrō decided to accept the gift, wondering for a while whether Kuroko would easily forgive them if they were an hour or so late. “We should go!” he suddenly exclaimed. “We’ll be late.” Not commenting on the fact that he was  _still_ blushing, Seijūrō let him scurry on ahead.


	63. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anon on tumblr

**Things you said I wish you hadn’t**

Kōki felt like he’d been hit with a truck.

Crushing hopelessness against his chest, an arrhythmic pulse in his throat. He was watching from the bench, unable to run to Seijūrō like he needed.

Seijūrō flinched visibly as his eye paled again. He squeezed the basketball between his hands before passing it to someone else, backed into a corner once again.

"Go on, Taiga-kun," Kuroko hissed beside Kōki.

Kōki was rooting for the wrong team, he knew that, he was shouting at Kuroko in his mind for not realising what was happening to Seijūrō.

Seijūrō finally steeled, shouted for the ball and passed through Kagami as if he didn’t exist. His eye, a gold which sent shivers down Kōki’s back, struck fear he hadn’t felt in months deep into him.

-

The game was won by Rakuzan, even with the final trump card of Kagami and Kuroko’s new play on the court. Seijūrō hardly even looked relieved, eyeing Seirin before his gaze came to rest on Kōki. He didn’t quite sneer, but regarded Kōki as he would a particularly distasteful task.

Kōki only thanked fate that he could disguise his tears as ones distraught for the outcome of the team rather than a broken heart.

-

_”It doesn’t matter, Kōki.”_

_Kōki closed his eyes, let Seijūrō’s voice ebb and flow around him, sparking hues of forest green and sky blue behind his eyelids. He shifted on Kōki’s chest, disturbing the water around them, and the tiny laps they made against the enamel of the bath added silvery sparks. “It does,” he mumbled, pressing his face against Seijūrō’s drying hair, angel feathers tickling him. “We should be worrying about whether we’ll stay in contact throughout university or that… or that you’re not texting me enough, not about whether your mind will hold together.”_

_"If I was texting you any more I would never have my phone out of my hand."_

_Kōki laughed breathlessly, biting his lip when Seijūrō shifted against him again before turning round to kiss Kōki’s forehead. “How long can we pretend for, then?”_

_"As long as we want. But… when it does happen, when he_ does _take over again, wait for me. I’ll come back to you no matter what it takes.”_

_Kōki let Seijūrō’s words comfort him. There was a promise in his tone and his eyes, and Seijūrō had never let a promise be broken between them, after all. So he pretended nothing was going wrong, pulling Seijūrō closer by tugging on his shoulders, digging into hard muscles with a shiver as Seijūrō watched him unflinchingly and straddled his waist._

-

He waited at the bench but couldn’t bring himself to keep a lookout for Seijūrō. A mistake, if he was honest; Seijūrō only seemed disappointed when Kōki jumped, startled at the sudden tap on his shoulder. Kōki met his eyes, heterochromic and achingly cold for the shortest moment he could.

"I never could gain much of an inkling of what was going on." For once, the colours he painted with his tone and words were red. It stained the sky and grass as if they were soaked in blood, or had drained the colour from Seijūrō’s eye. "But you really are nothing special."

"I know," Kōki said dully.

"I called you here to be courteous, but there was no reason to, really. You know why I called you." Kōki nodded once, and opted to keep his head bowed, though he shouldn’t be ashamed that tears were forming in his eyes. "I don’t believe in romantic relationships, Kōki, and I don’t intend to give in to him again." 

Kōki made a small sound of acknowledgement, and reached out desperately to grasp hold of his arm as he began to leave.

"Wait, Sei… Akashi-kun." Seijūrō didn’t look back. "Even though things are like this, you can still rely on me for anything." The laugh he let out at that was short and hard, only prompting Kōki to continue. "I mean it."

"Then… you can pretend that I thank you for the sentiment, if it helps."

He couldn’t let himself weep or sob or break down as he watched Akashi leave. Seijūrō had made a promise.

All there was to do was wait.


	64. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joint request from tumblr

**Things you said too quietly**

**Things you said after you kissed me**

Seijūrō couldn’t always hide how Kōki’s muteness could anger him. When it came down to it, the affliction was just a constant reminder of how low his father could stoop to stop their relationship and the torment Kōki’d had to suffer through for them to be together.

That time that Kōki had been trapped under a ladder for twenty minutes, unable to call out for help; that time when he’d gotten stuck up a tree when trying to rescue a  _cat_ , of all things; every time Seijūrō had had to intervene when people attempted to talk to Kōki, it was all unending through his head. And the worst part was that it couldn’t compare to what Kōki was enduring.

It could never be enough to halt his feelings, though, not when he could smile so contentedly, settle into Seijūrō’s arms or pull Seijūrō into his own, and everything Seijūrō had ever needed to hear was laid out so clearly and proudly in his eyes.

Or when he could kiss so sweetly. Any whimper he made was a symphony and crashing of waves against a cliff and rain falling on grass. Seijūrō whispered his name, aware that he sounded broken. He knew that actions should speak louder than words, but it still hurt when Kōki could only repeatedly mouth his “ _I’m sorry_ ”s and “ _I love you_ ”s against his throat and eyelids and lips.


	65. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anonymous on tumblr

**Keeping the other person warm**

It came to Kōki’s attention quite quickly that Akashi was oddly cute.

That was the first realisation, in the first minute of being trapped under the bus shelter by the rain. It came after the usual whenever he saw Akashi (which happened quite often, come to think of it, for someone who was supposed to live four hours away during term time); the sinking stomach and flashbacks of scissors. To be fair, he hadn’t actually shown any interest in other pairs of scissors since, but it had made a rather large impression that Kōki hadn’t quite been able to shake off, even if he was perfectly cordial. So Akashi had walked in, smiled pleasantly to Kōki even though his jacket was soaked and his hair was dripping what must have been freezing cold water onto his face and down his neck, then almost flopped onto the bench a little away from Kōki, a sigh escaping him as he put his chin onto his hands.

Any other time Kōki had seen him, he’d been sitting perfectly regally, the perfect way to stare people down defiantly. Now, he just looked… defeated and cold.

Was he  _sulking_? Kōki bit his lip to hide the smile as Akashi—probably not expecting that Kōki was looking at him from the corner of his eye—almost pouted. If so, it was a strangely charming way to sulk.

The second realisation was a bit more alarming. He decided to give up being surreptitious—it would probably annoy Akashi more than if he were candid—and said; “Is everything alright, Akashi-san?” His voice held just the right amount of caring, but also a certain amount of amusement, which Akashi responded to with a scowl.

“My driver is going to be late.”

Kōki heard something along the lines of ‘my diamond shoes are too tight’.

“You wouldn’t happen to have one who could drop me off at the station, would you?”

“No… I don’t have a driver.”

“Figured,” he mumbled.

Kōki supposed that he was, on some level, acclimatising to Akashi, because he didn’t cower at the look he gave when Kōki laughed. “The bus goes directly to the station. If it’s not late it’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Akashi sighed and rested his arm on the back of the bench. His elbow brushed against Kōki’s shoulder and he froze, though it wasn’t as unpleasant as he would have expected. He peeked over when he didn’t move it, and regretted it.

He hadn’t realised that the sight of Akashi with his jacket open, his shirt damp from the weather and undone at the top—though it couldn’t have been more than ten degrees and he  _was_  shivering—would cause such an unbidden surge of pictures, ending with him staring openly. Thankfully, Akashi was facing clear the other way. He was pretty sure that Akashi could read minds after all. How else could he lead people so easily? The second realisation was thus: as well as being cute—which he could claim  _without_ making a major lifestyle choice that he had never before considered—he was unfairly attractive. Attractive in the bucket-of-ice-water-direly-needed, blush-hard-enough-to-cause-an-aneurysm way. But if he  _were_  to expand his options in the romantic department, it would be a lot more logical for him to look at the likes of… Fukuda. Or Koganei, maybe.  _Not_  someone so out of his sphere. If anything, such an attraction to someone would give him another fantasy when what he wanted was a relationship.

Akashi’s phone rang and he took it out of his pocket quickly, looking at Kōki curiously when he jolted and snapped his head around. He winced as his neck cricked painfully.

From what Kōki could gleam, his driver could come within five minutes, and Kōki gave a sigh of relief. It would be easier to mull this through  _without_  the object so close. And maybe perform a purification ritual. He had some basketball magazines and could probably find  _some_  picture of Akashi somewhere in them to burn. He would probably have to start some sort of aversion therapy too; there had to be some information on it on the internet… he sighed, thinking it all through.

Akashi’s arm retracted and he shivered hard enough to shake the bench.

“Do you want my scarf?” he asked automatically. He would probably have to do something about his empathy too, because when Akashi gave him an innocent smile he thought entirely uninnocent thoughts. “You’re not really dressed appropriately for the weather.”

“I didn’t expect it to get so cold this quickly. But no, thank you, Furihata-kun. My driver shouldn’t be too long.”

Kōki imagined him saying his name coupled with a darkened, predatory, seductive look and considered punching either himself or Akashi in the face as a distraction. “Okay,” he said, quite lamely, and stared at the pavement.

“But…” Akashi suddenly slid closer, pressing the side of his body against Kōki. If there had been anywhere to go he would have edged away, but he’d been at the edge as it was, and the situation was even direr when he took Kōki’s hand.

He was about ninety-five percent sure his head had just exploded. What didn’t help; the smell of his cologne, his shoulders moving a bit against Kōki’s, the fact that  _both_  their hands were on Kōki’s thigh. What  _definitely_  did not help, and made him want to run very fast off a cliff; that after a second he’d almost curled into Kōki and rested his head on his shoulder. Soft, damp hair tickled Kōki’s neck and chin. He was light-headed, until Akashi said, sounding damnably amused; “It might be a good idea to breathe, you know.”

He obeyed, and felt a little better. “What are you doing?”

“It’s warmer like this.”

Kōki couldn’t disagree. It was true that, like this, he was burning hot from embarrassment and expected that he felt like a furnace to Akashi. “I suppose,” he mumbled. “But for the wrong reasons,” he added. Half accidentally. Half because he wanted to see how Akashi would react.

“What reasons?”

He couldn’t tell if he was being serious or making fun of him, but stubbornly faced the other way when Akashi lifted his head to look at him. “I would rather not discuss it in this position.”

“Kōki—” he broke off and took hold of Kōki’s chin to turn him back. So he  _did_  know his name. “What position would you rather, then?”

_Again_ , he couldn’t tell if it was a serious, innocent question, or a suave, flirtatious one.

“With you on the other side of the bench!”

“I refuse.” He placed his head back on Kōki’s shoulder. Could he call this sexual harassment? Possibly. He would keep that in mind. “I have a confession to make.”

“I don’t think I want to hear it.”

He could have been invisible for all the attention Akashi heeded him. “I’ve had my eye on you for a couple of months, and would be honoured if you would consider pursuing a romantic relationship.”

Dreaming. That was it. There was no other possible explanation. But he decided to humour the dream for a while. Perhaps Akashi would transform into something amusing or suddenly end up naked… okay maybe not that. “How so?” he asked slowly.

“I believe the protocol is we go on outings together and talk often,” Akashi answered. He sounded confused. That was cute—no; it wasn’t. “Anything physical can wait, of course.” He was devilish then. His thumb dug into Kōki’s thigh.

“No—stop that—I meant how have you had your eye on…  _me_?”

Akashi pulled away, not seeming any less confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not like I’m anything special, compared to you.” And he was perfectly fine with that. Some people were extraordinary whilst others were ordinary. If everyone was extraordinary it would cancel itself out regardless.

“I spend my entire life surrounded by people who are regarded by society as ‘extraordinary’ or ‘prodigies’,” he said slowly. “Coming across someone who isn’t like that, but still has the determination and strength to make the best of everything he  _has_  been given and  _becomes_  someone extraordinary by their own volition has its own charm. And having someone who would put that determination and strength into a relationship with me… it’s appealing. Naturally I will extend the same courtesy to you.”

“You’re making this sound like a business arrangement,” Kōki said. He was weakly holding on to Akashi’s hand, his breaths coming short and shallow.

“I… I’m sorry. I suppose I don’t know how to properly express my emotions.” He sat up again and dropped Kōki’s hand. Kōki closed his eyes and waited for him to leave. It wouldn’t be worth Akashi’s time anyway. “Bear with me for a moment.”

It was becoming ridiculous. Tears pricked Kōki’s eyes.  _That_  was ridiculous. Feeling like he was falling and flying at the same time when he looked at Akashi was ridiculous. “If you have to think so hard about it—”

“Spontaneity.” Kōki looked at him. “That’s what’s needed, isn’t it? It goes against everything I’ve ever been taught, but…” Maybe he was going crazy? The glint in his eye certainly seemed crazed. Or maybe just… intense. He couldn’t read Akashi at all. “I can’t stop thinking about you. When I look at you, it’s like I’m looking at a nebula or… or a firework. I-it  _burns_ , but in such a good way, as if the bad in me is being purified. And I can’t think about losing that, but it isn’t enough anymore.” Kōki looked at him, feeling blank and numb and the worst part was he didn’t _know_  if it was due to fear or expectation. “That didn’t make much sense, did it?” He seemed chagrined. Kōki’s heart throbbed. “I suppose I’ve found something I’m not good at—”

In retrospect, it seemed like a pretty stupid idea to kiss Akashi. After all, it was  _Akashi_ , and even if he got into other people’s personal space he didn’t seem like one to appreciate it occurring to him.

Akashi was frozen and Kōki cursed himself. He started to pull away, ready to apologise a hundred times over and beg for his life to not be taken, but a shaking hand ensnared the back of his neck. Akashi was kissing him back, trapping his lips so that somehow his entire body couldn’t move. Kōki had kissed a couple of girls before, but had never enjoyed it all that much.  _This_ was perfect. Akashi slowly gaining in confidence until he was taking charge, his hands in Kōki’s hair to twist his neck so Kōki could only let himself be kissed and kiss back—close to desperate, for Akashi’s touch, his taste.

Pulling away was difficult, but had to be done at some point. Akashi was painfully vulnerable and uncertain when he looked at Kōki. “So… your answer?”

Kōki held back a laugh, giddy and breathless. “Yes.”

He smiled, more with his eyes and squeezed Kōki’s hand between his. “The car’s here,” he announced.

“What?” Kōki panicked when he saw the black, shiny car parked in front of them. The Akashi family  _couldn’t_  be anything less than traditionalists, could they? And seeing the young master  _kissing_ someone in a bus shelter—no, kissing another boy—could only cause trouble, couldn’t it?

“You’ll be coming with me. I’m taking you to dinner.”

“ _What_?”

Akashi pulled Kōki after him, looking over his shoulder with a beaming smile as Kōki’s knees weakened.

The third realisation came then, that  _perhaps_ , just maybe, this could be the person he was beginning to fall for.


	66. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by eternalelysium on tumblr

**Fake relationship AU (with genderfluid!Furi, though he hasn’t quite figured it out yet)**

Kōki had come so far out from Tokyo for a reason. He didn’t—didn’t  _at all_ —want to be recognised whilst he was still… figuring things out. Buying the clothes and makeup hadn’t been difficult or particularly embarrassing when people would assume that he was buying them for a sister or a girlfriend, but he’d had to wait an entire week to try on what he’d bought when his parents and brother were out for the night. It had taken hours of redos and attempts, but finally he’d been satisfied that he’d achieved the best possible standard.

Someone who seemed like a stranger stared back from the mirror. It didn’t feel… entirely right. Nothing had slotted into place as soon as he looked at himself in the mirror, but something had lifted off his shoulders. From the research he had done, it didn’t alarm him too much, though he’d had to stubbornly hold back tears. Identity was nothing that could be defined easily. He was just another person who couldn’t fit into the boxes society had laid out.

The makeup had been scrubbed off and the clothes carefully hidden under his bed before his family had returned.

And a couple of weeks later he’d hurried out of the house, wearing an oversized coat which hid the clothes he had on underneath, the pockets filled with the makeup. He’d quickly applied it in a public bathroom at the train station before stepping out. His heart was in his mouth, but no one stopped and stared, or even gave him a second look, as if he blended into the crowd like any other time.

It started to all go wrong once he’d boarded the train. He didn’t notice for a while; the car was quite crowded—Kōki had to stand—and one person shuffling around to get closer didn’t alarm him too much.

“Hey.”

The word was paired with a tap on his shoulder and he looked up from his book in surprise, meeting the eyes of a taller, slightly older man.

“Hey,” he said in response before turning back to his book. Maybe he just wanted to say that he still had a tag on his dress or to comment on the book. After all, he didn’t  _look_  like anything predatory or creepy.

He darted a look back up. The man was unabashedly staring at his legs even though they were covered with thick tights. Kōki moved away and his back hit the wall. “What’s your name?”

Kōki didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure he  _could_  respond, when the man approached again. One hand braced against the wall beside his ear and he loomed over Kōki.

“Are you shy? Come on; what’s your name?”

Either the train was shaking or he was visibly trembling. Even if the man’s smile  _had_  been pleasant enough to stop the fear wracking through him he wouldn’t have been able to notice it. Everything was predatory. Were the other people in the car looking at them because they were concerned about Kōki or were they his wingmen, hounding Kōki into a corner? How would the man react if he found out that Kōki was male?

“Why don’t we go for a coffee, huh?” The man talked lightly, but Kōki still shivered. “Get to know each other a little better?”

His intentions  _could_  be entirely harmless. After all, how many times had he seen a beautiful girl or boy on a train and longed to have the courage to talk to them?

His hand closed over Kōki’s arm and he cowered, feeling like the man was growing, and the shadow he cast entangled him until no amount of struggling could wrench him free. “Hey—”

“Is there a problem?”

Kōki wasn’t sure when he closed his eyes. At the vaguely familiar voice he cracked open one eye, but shut it again when he realised who it was.

Akashi Seijūrō. In the flesh, standing before him.

_Protecting_  him.

At the lingering silence, he looked again. All he could see of Akashi was the back of his head, but he appeared to be having a stare down with the other man, though he must have been more than half a foot taller than him. A second later, he took Kōki’s hand, and Kōki only barely managed to hold in the squeak before clutching onto it tightly.

The other man twitched, and he shrugged carelessly. “Sorry, man. Didn’t know she was yours.”

In any other situation, Kōki would have been offended, but the relief at his departure outweighed it so much that as soon as Akashi let go of his hand he leant against the wall weakly, taking deep breaths which shook his entire frame. Akashi seemed startled at his reaction, but Kōki still tried to wave him off before he recognised him.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’m assured that you’re safe, Furihata-kun.”

Kōki groaned. “You recognised me?”  _Definitely_  a good idea to not be out in Tokyo, then.

“Well, yes.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he mumbled to himself. Because why did it have to be  _Akashi_ , of all people? His family had no real money and no connections; what would he try to blackmail Kōki into doing with this information? He glanced up at Akashi, who still seemed confused. Maybe he would try to blackmail Kōki into being his slave?

“You have no reason to be,” he said. He put his head to one side as Kōki slapped his cheeks and told himself that he was reading too much into it; this wasn’t some shoujo manga. What use would he be as a slave?

The train slowed, the doors opened, and Kōki took the opportunity to dive out of the train and pelt down the walkway.

Akashi was faster, obviously. He had only taken about ten strides before his wrist was grasped hold of, pulling him back to halt him in his tracks. “You forgot your coat,” he said. With one hand still enclosing a wrist, he handed the over-sized coat back to him. Kōki accepted it. “And your hands are still shaking.” Kōki watched him as his eyes settled on a café. “This place is low quality, but at least allow me to buy you a drink.” He made his way through the crowd to the café as if he expected Kōki to follow without questions.

To his credit (and not Kōki’s), he did follow.

One more look in Kōki’s direction and he’d ordered him a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a plain black coffee for himself. Despite internally refusing, Kōki took it. It was good hot chocolate anyway, and whipped cream was never a miss. After letting the warmth of the beverage seep into his hands as he waited for it to cool, he took in a deep breath, which finally didn’t wrack his frame with tremors. “Please don’t tell anyone about this, Akashi-san.”

Akashi looked at him. “About what?” he asked.

“A-about how I’m dressed.”

“I won’t.” Kōki wasn’t sure about what to think of his tone, and distracted himself by taking a sip of the chocolate, almost burning off his tongue. Regardless, his heart slowed and he felt himself settle back into his normal breathing pattern. He didn’t realise that Akashi was watching him until he asked; “Feeling better?”

Kōki nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s an occupational hazard when you’re passing as female.”

Kōki eyed him, wondering whether Akashi was laughing at his expense, but he seemed nothing but sincere and concerned. “Had to happen the first time I went out like this.” He was talking out loud, even though he didn’t want to, even though it was  _none_ of Akashi’s business, and probably nothing of interest to him, but he still continued. “Maybe I should just quit trying.”

“Nothing worthwhile is easy. If you’re more comfortable like this—”

“But I’m not!” Kōki blanched when Akashi frowned, pretty sure that interrupting him like that would end up with his head severed on the table, but he couldn’t stop. “I’m  _not_  more comfortable like this or any other way. I don’t know what I  _am_  anymore, or whether I’ve  _ever_  known what I am. I just know that I’m not what I’m meant to be even though I wish I was.” He refused to cry, to show any kind of weakness in front of Akashi anymore, but even holding it in hurt. It didn’t help when Akashi looked at him and Kōki couldn’t decipher the look, didn’t know if Akashi would leave in disgust or stay to throw accusations and harsh words painted with hatred at him.

“There’s no need to hurry, then. If you’re not ready to decide, then leave it for another day; whether it’s a week or a decade in the future.” He frowned in concentration as he turned towards Kōki. “You don’t need to pigeon-hole yourself, Furihata-kun, and you don’t need to live as if you have to achieve someone else’s expectations or what you’re  _meant_  to be. It will only cause you grief.”

There was wisdom in his words, and they almost seemed… cathartic. Kōki wondered if he was really talking to himself, with his expression turned inward and the dazed way he blinked after a moment of silence. “Akashi-san?”

“Will you be alright now?”

Kōki nodded and Akashi stood, looking down at him curiously for a few seconds. “The clothes suit you,” he said. It meant nothing, Kōki  _knew_  that; it was only a half-hearted compliment to make him feel better, but he could feel his skin heating until he was sure he was blushing hard enough for it to be visible.

“Th-thank you,” he said anyway. “Will you be?”

It did nothing to help his blush when Akashi’s eyes were so heavy on him, watching his movements, analysing him until he was stripped to the bone and had no more secrets to relinquish, and even worse when he bent, lifted Kōki’s chin and kissed him once, not looking away from his eyes.

Everything froze and burned and crackled with lightning simultaneously. He wanted more at the same time as wanting only to hide somewhere,  _forget_  the ordeal that was today and hope to never see Akashi again. An almost inaudible gasp was torn from him and Akashi echoed it before rising again. “I’ll be fine,” he answered before leaving.

Kōki looked at the abandoned coffee on the table and considered asking Kuroko whether his ex-captain had a habit of kissing people unnecessarily.


	67. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous on tumblr

**Best friend's sibling AU**

Furihata Kōki needed to go to some kind of anonymous meeting.

Like AA or those courses they had for shopaholics. Something that would purge out such awful feelings and emotions and _definitely_  the thoughts that plagued him. Sure, he was an average red-blooded male who’d had one failed attempt at sex, but when, upon realising that Tetsuya’s younger brother by two years had grown into what could only be described as a homoerotic dream, his mind had immediately been overtaken by visions of him sprawled out and begging to be taken. And  _that_  had been two years ago.  _Since_  that unfortunate revelation, the younger Akashi had turned seventeen (Kōki nineteen), had finally overgrown Kōki in height, and had gained even more muscle from his exploits in basketball.

Even worse: he was fairly sure Seijūrō knew of his pains. They’d watched each other grow up, Seijūrō from a small child who had followed him and Tetsuya, copying his older brother almost exactly and insisting that they all hold hands whenever they happened to be walking down the street, because  _that was what mother said we should do_ , to a child who lost his mother in the worst way possible and cried in front of him, to the beautiful young man who was much too talented and mature for his own good. Hell, Kōki still spent much of his nights playing video games in nothing more than his boxers, usually stuffing his face with pretzels, and weekends meandering around town, whilst Seijūrō already helped manage a small branch of his father’s company, as  _well_  as being top of the class in everything and the captain of a highly respected basketball team.

He had his life way more on track than Kōki did, and it was only another thing which separated them so much and convinced Kōki to never outright express his feelings.

Which was why he tried to avoid being alone with Seijūrō at all costs. It was inevitable sometimes; he spent so much time at the Akashi’s that often Tetsuya had to run errands and the only possible options would be to go back home or hide in Tetsuya’s room—which didn’t always work; Seijūrō could always find some excuse to come in.

On a Friday which Kōki had planned to be as lazy as possible, Tetsuya went to help walk the dogs and after one look outside at the pouring, torrential rain, Kōki refused to accompany him, instead picking a couple of books from Tetsuya’s shelves and settling on his bed to read.

It was five minutes later, as soon as the front door shut, that Seijūrō appeared in his room. Kōki pretended to not have noticed him, lifting up the book so he could surreptitiously peer over the top.

He paused at the bookshelf and stretched up. His shirt raised, and Kōki swallowed at the sight of the small of his back and the dip of his spine. He wanted to reach out and touch it so badly, press him up against the bookcase and bite his neck until he writhed. Almost dropping his book, he took his attention away from Seijūrō as much as he could, even when he looked over his shoulder at Kōki.

He thought he would combust when Seijūrō bent over to take a book from the bottom shelf. His mouth was dry at the sight, the shape of his legs just hinted at under the fabric of his trousers, and higher up where the fabric was tighter over—

Kōki broke off the thought.

“Mind if I join you?” He added a gentle sway of his hips as he walked to the bed and Kōki was hypnotised by the movement. Making a noncommittal gesture, he allowed Seijūrō to settle beside him, too close for comfort but not close enough for what he wanted. He could only think broken thoughts about how they were on a  _bed_ , but… no, it was Tetsuya’s bed and they couldn’t do anything on that; they would have to go down to Seijūrō’s room, which was only a little down the hall. It wouldn’t take long.

He couldn’t help his groan, and let his head fall in his hands.

“Kōki?” Seijūrō asked in alarm. “Are you well? Should I call the maid?”

“N-no, I’m fine. Just a bit of a persistent headache.” It wasn’t even a lie. All this stress  _had_  landed him with a perpetual headache.

“Is that so?” Seijūrō said. His voice lilted in softened tones and he moved to kneel behind Kōki, placing his hands on Kōki’s shoulders.

“What are you—?”

“Headaches are often a byproduct of stress. If the muscles in your neck and shoulders relax, then they might ameliorate.” He started kneading, building up the pressure until Kōki was biting his lip against moans. Working his way through the knots, he slowly edged closer until his body was lightly pressed against Kōki’s back.

He should have gone home. Or gone with Tetsuya to walk the dogs, because he knew that if Seijūrō propositioned him now he would need no convincing.

He slowly traced fire down the nape of Kōki’s neck with his thumbs and his forehead pressed against the back of Kōki’s head. “Better?” he asked in a low tone. The words brushed against Kōki’s skin like electricity and he nodded. No rejection came to his lips when Seijūrō kissed his neck, and Kōki reached up to tangle a hand in his hair. If he forgot about everything that had led him to Seijūrō and focussed instead on their chemistry and his intelligence and kindness it was  _right_. No one could refute that.

Kōki’s head span when the warmth of his tongue was added and he rested it on Seijūrō’s shoulder, unable and unwilling to halt the desperate sounds coming from his mouth as his nails dug into Seijūrō’s scalp. Seijūrō whispered his name in response and Kōki’s hands shook, his arms barely able to support his weight as he pulled away and turned to face him. His eyes were sparking a brighter red than usual, cheeks flushed and hair mussed. He looked beautiful, and when he closed the distance between them, desperate and achingly desirable. Kōki’s hands were in his hair again, learning the softness of the texture and how he trembled against Kōki whenever his hair was tugged. His tongue was against Kōki’s lips, languidly twining around his and the intensity of it was like nothing else he’d ever experienced. He let his hands fall from Seijūrō’s hair to the top button of his shirt, toying with it and wondering whether Seijūrō would let him undo it.

“ _What_  are you two doing?”

Kōki jumped and shot away from Seijūrō, almost falling off the bed as he did so. Tetsuya was standing in the doorway, soaking wet from the rain and a rare expression of anger on his face which sent chills down Kōki’s back.

“I… uh—”

“How long has this been going on?”

Kōki sent an alarmed look to Seijūrō. It didn’t help; he looked even more appealing with his lips red, running a hand through his hair to tame it. Kōki must have managed to undo the top button and his collarbones were visible, seemingly such an innocent part of the body but for a moment Kōki couldn’t stop staring, biting his lip.

“This is the first time.” Seijūrō’s answer roused Kōki and he remembered that Tetsuya was standing there.

“Furihata-kun, just get out, please.” He pressed his hand to his forehead and Kōki stole a last glance at Seijūrō. As soon as he’d gotten to the other end of the corridor, he slid down the wall to the floor. If there was one thing he was sure of, he  _wouldn’t_ regret it.


	68. AkaFuri

Seijūrō was more than a little disconcerted when he walked into the office and everyone was dressed up.

It was one of those moments when he felt the need to pinch himself, or shut the door again to check that he hadn’t accidentally opened a doorway into another dimension. Everyone was still there—not in their regulatory formal, practical wear, but in entirely impractical and, in some cases, raunchy clothing.

Confusing, and irritating. But he knew who to blame.

Reo was chewing on the end of his pen and raised his eyebrows when Seijūrō approached. “Someone didn’t get the memo,” he said. Light hearted. Much too light hearted for having undermined Seijūrō’s authority.

"I didn’t authorise the memo."

Reo shrugged. “It was on the social billboard. Bypasses you. You should check it sometimes, Sei-chan.”

He knew it had been a bad idea to hire someone as flamboyant and charismatic as Reo as his secretary, not to mention sneaky. “You know how I feel about allowing my workers to dress up for hallowe’en, Reo—”

"It’s a good thing if it leads to casual Fridays. Office work is like school, Sei-chan, and we need some time to relax and forge connections." Seijūrō shook his head as Reo rolled his eyes. "And no, it is not going to lead to pyjama Mondays!"

Seijūrō begged to differ. Give these workers an inch and they would take a mile, which he knew because that was something he looked for in an employee. What it meant, though, was that he had to keep them all on the tightest leash possible. Being casual, like dressing up for hallowe’en in the office loosened the leash and put a lot more pressure and stress onto him. With the upcoming merger, it was stress he could do without. 

Someone dropped some paperwork on the desk and—ah, this could help. It was Furihata, wearing his usual obviously cheap but well-kept suit (he held back the slight twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t dressed in something more like a catsuit; it would have suited him marvellously).

"You didn’t dress up, Furihata-kun?" Reo said.

Furihata smiled as Reo handed him a few envelopes. “Sure. I dressed up as myself.”

Reo rolled his eyes. “You and Sei-chan are boring.”

"It’s not boring, Reo. Right, Furihata-kun," he started. His mouth went a bit dry when Furihata gave him a sideways look with an impish smile. A natural reaction; there’d been a bit of back-and-forth flirting between them since their third year of high school, as well as a few stolen kisses in dark corners at company functions which had been more mind-blowing than anything else Seijūrō had ever experienced. He cleared his throat as Reo rested his chin on his hand to watch—this situation had fascinated him as much as the soap operas he was always carping about. "Don’t you think that such casual wear should not be in the work place?"

"He’s scared that it will lead to casual Fridays and pyjama Mondays or something."

"I wouldn’t mind casual Fridays." Seijūrō glowered as Reo gave him a triumphant look. Furihata eyed Seijūrō for a second before slowly smiling. "Pyjama Mondays may be a bit difficult for me seeing as I sleep naked."

Seijūrō froze as Furihata looked at him so straightforwardly, without a hint of being nervous or wanting to avert his eyes. He was almost weak, painfully attracted to him though it wasn’t like they could do anything now. Furihata winked at him and chewed on his thumbnail as he left, adding a sway to his hips that hypnotised Seijūrō as he stared. It had been a while since the last work party; maybe he could get Reo to find some occasion and organise it. Hopefully this time he could finally convince Furihata to come home with him too.

"Sei-chan!"

He jumped. “What?”

Reo sighed. “I was commenting on how distracted you’re going to be today now.”

Seijūrō ignored him in lieu of watching as Furihata opened the door to the hallway, meeting Seijūrō’s eyes once more with a flirtatious smile.

"Change of plans, Reo. We’re having mandatory sleep-wear Mondays. Effective immediately."

He didn’t seem impressed. “You know, you can just tell Furihata-kun that you want to bend him over your desk and—”

"Do not complete that sentence."

He shrugged carelessly, rocking back on his chair. “He’s handsome and confident now, Sei-chan. He won’t be free forever and there’s no reason for him to wait around after he’s already made the first move.”

All true; Furihata had no lacking of admirers of either gender, which Reo had kept him updated on even if Seijūrō insisted he stop, and he had been the one to kiss Seijūrō first.

Reo scribbled something on a post-it and handed it over. “His mobile number. Call him now and ask him out to dinner.”

"Employees shouldn’t have their phones on."

The look Reo gave him said ‘ _you are a piece of work_ ’, but as he had the intelligence to not say it out loud Seijūrō opted to ignore it.

He took the post-it though. Just in case.


	69. MayuAka

Akashi was much too talented and Chihiro was fed up of it.

It was becoming physically exhausting to maintain an aloof demeanor, which he needed now more than ever. Any distraction would have helped, if he could think anything other than how Akashi was able to find where he was most sensitive as if he had a map, and had the patience and self-control to abuse those areas with kisses and licks until Chihiro could taste blood from biting the inside of his cheeks. He refused to make a sound and give Akashi the satisfaction.

His hands itched to unclench from the sheets and tug on Akashi’s hair or work off his clothes but he doubted Akashi would allow that without some form of retribution. Sure, they were _on_ a bed, and Chihiro’s top had been cast aside a little while back, but Chihiro knew from experience that it meant nothing.

The worst part was just how unpredictable he was; only a few seconds ago his hands had been at Chihiro’s waistband and Chihiro’s breath had been catching in his throat from the anticipation before the hands were at his shoulders again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered under his breath, wincing when his voice broke. Akashi knew what he was doing; driving him to madness until he broke down and begged.

Teeth grazed on his collarbone as Akashi rolled his hips slightly, just barely enough for an intoxicating wave of pleasure to fill him. It was much too intense for the small movement but, in his frustration, so welcome that he lost his inhibitions.

It was the biting that did it, really. There was something about biting that made him lose control, and of _course_ Akashi had realised that disconcertingly quickly and since had used it to his advantage. His hand was on the back of Akashi’s head before he realised he’d even moved and he pressed Akashi closer. He bit harder and Chihiro buried his face in Akashi’s hair, choking out, “I love you.”

Which he _hadn’t_ meant to say. What he’d wanted to say was ‘I love _that_ ’ because it hopefully would lead to Akashi doing _more_ of it. If it wasn’t biologically impossible, he was sure his face was turning the same magenta as Akashi’s hair. He froze, and Akashi sat up enough to look at him quizzically.

It didn’t help that he was still straddling Chihiro’s lap, that his hands were still absent-mindedly playing with Chihiro’s hair, that his lips were reddened from his attentions. “I love _that_ ,” he said. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean that thing before. I suppose I was thinking of someone else…” Tailing off awkwardly, he scratched the back of his head.

“I didn’t hear.”

It didn’t seem likely, but on the other hand he didn’t seem either repulsed or jovial. His stomach flipped at the words (which was idiotic; he _didn’t_ feel that way about Akashi). “You didn’t?”

Akashi leaned in to kiss him, and Chihiro kissed back even though he felt like this was becoming too addictive. He was just too good of a kisser, enough that Chihiro wondered whether he should take it and not respond in an attempt to not embarrass himself with his attempts in comparison.

Chihiro kissed his throat when he pulled back, automatically pulling Akashi closer when he made a quiet, pleased sound. “I didn’t.” Chihiro ran a hand down his back and held back a shiver when Akashi started undoing the buttons of his shirt. “On a completely unrelated note, I wouldn’t be doing this with someone I didn’t care about.”

The freezing that time was more of an enraged freezing. The sound he let out was close to a growl, and he pushed Akashi off his lap to the floor as he said, “You’re a jerk.” He wanted to take it as retribution when Akashi’s head hit the wall, but instead felt guilty when he winced and rubbed it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you that hard.” Akashi batted away his hand when he offered it, bestowed one last, lingering kiss before breaking away to button up his shirt and throw Chihiro’s top at him. “What are you…?”

“You ruined the mood,” he answered lightly, running his fingers through his hair to flatten it. “Maybe if you took initiative once in a while we’d actually get somewhere.”

“It’s impossible to predict how you’re going to react!” Akashi looked over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow at his whining tone and Chihiro collapsed back onto the bed before rolling onto his front to hide his face.

“Don’t sulk, Chihiro. It’s unbecoming.”

He deserved much worse, so Chihiro didn’t understand why Akashi looked at him so venomously when he threw a pillow at him, though the expression definitely made him regret it.


	70. AkaFuri

Seijūrō had talked to Furihata only a handful of times. There was a reason; somehow Furihata couldn’t hold a conversation with him without turning bright red and stammering over polite words, and there was no worth in trying to force blood out of a stone, especially a stone that trembled like a leaf whenever he approached.

And still, when Kuroko came up to him with an apparently completely drunk Furihata on his arm, asking whether he could make sure he got home safely, he felt obliged to do it. “He only lives a couple of miles out from your father’s house so it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

"Is he even old enough to drink?"

"Akashi-san!" Furihata slurred, tripping over his feet as he pulled away from Kuroko, and instead taking hold of Akashi’s arm and leaning onto him heavily. In the second that Akashi looked at him quizzically as Furihata beamed, Kuroko had disappeared.

Obviously.

"How many drinks did you have, Furihata-kun?"

Furihata blinked at him. “It was a bad idea to go to a club.”

"It was Kuroko’s idea," Seijūrō said. He smiled when Furihata growled something about ‘that damn Kuroko’ before whining and hiding his face against Seijūrō’s shoulder. "What?" It would be a pain if he was really ill. It wasn’t like he had the time to look after someone who couldn’t hold their drink.

"You have a really pretty smile."

"O-oh." The slip wasn’t deliberate, and rare enough that he could feel his cheeks heating up. "Shall we leave now, then?"

He’d been complimented on his looks before, but when Furihata mumbled, “Pretty smile,” again his heart seemed to both stop and flit into triple time. “And pretty eyes.”

Maybe it was just because someone who was drunk had to be telling the truth. Maybe he’d started being consumed by vanity, but he wanted to hear it again. “Furihata-kun.”

Furihata looked at him. “No. We can stay. I wanted to talk to you and I’m… drunk.”

"Talk about what?"

"I can’t talk to you when I’m completely sober."

Seijūrō propped him up more when he swayed. “Why is that? You’re not too much of a mess playing against me.”

He put his arms around Seijūrō’s neck. “Furihata-kun—”

"Because I like you."

Seijūrō stared at him. Maybe drunk people didn’t tell the truth, or exaggerated, or maybe it was the kind of ‘like’ that someone would have towards a friend.

Though it would explain why he was always so nervous and couldn’t hold a conversation with Seijūrō longer than a few minutes. “Listen—”

He was interrupted yet again when Furihata pulled him into a kiss which was much too intoxicating for someone so inebriated before he pulled away, giggled and whispered, “ _Psych_ ,” biting his lip. “How was that?”

He couldn’t answer, his mind a stuck record as Furihata glanced at him nervously. “Good speechless or bad speechless?” When Seijūrō didn’t answer he let his arms drop to his sides.

"Furihata-kun—"

"I just…" Interrupted three times in one conversation. If it was anyone else there would have been severe repercussions—anything Seijūrō could have thrown at the offender—but for whatever reason Furihata’s eyes were silencing him. "I really do, Akashi-kun. I just want you to notice me."

"I am."

"And maybe develop some kind of feelings for me." It was close to entirely coherent, though he said it slowly.

Before he’d completely regained control, this might have been of interest. Having such a hold over someone and rewarding them with something as easy as his attention to control them, but he didn’t want someone to be his subordinate any more. It almost embarrassed him how much he longed for real affection. It tempted him. What he knew of Furihata wasn’t entirely damning; he had to be a hard-worker to be on Seirin’s team and wasn’t unattractive. Anything else important would no doubt be revealed if they did go out. Not to mention the teenage years were meant for experimenting, which Seijūrō had done nothing of.

"I realise there isn’t much chance of that happening and I’m sorry for—"

Payback, partially. But Seijūrō couldn’t deny that he was tempted regardless, so he kissed Furihata, breaking away as soon as he started responding. “Ask me when you’re sober. You can get my number from Kuroko.” Furihata watched him dazedly before rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he sighed. "I can make my own way home." He turned with a certain amount of dexterity and looked over his shoulder when Seijūrō protested. "I’m not really that drunk, to be fair. I played it up a bit. Just tipsy."

Seijūrō watched him leave, both trepidation and an odd anticipation clouding his thoughts.


	71. AkaFuri

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been made captain,” Kōki said morosely, tapping the nib of his pen onto the worksheet in front of him. It wasn’t that difficult—if he hadn’t been so distracted he could have done it in his sleep—but in this state he couldn’t do much more than stare at the characters until they blurred into… what looked like basketballs. He squinted at them, wondering if he was turning into as much of a basketball idiot as Kagami. “What would you do if I turned into Kagami?”

Seijūrō looked at him. “I… don’t know how to answer that,” he said seriously. Kōki smirked and turned his face away. Best to hide if he was going to laugh; Seijūrō tended to be petulant if he thought Kōki was laughing at him. “Why don’t you want to be captain?”

Sitting up to shuffle closer, he shrugged. “Well, sure, it’s an honour and I’m better at it than I thought I would be, but I have to keep on reminding myself that tomorrow you’re my enemy and I can’t be hoping that you’ll win.”

“I don’t want you to hold back just because this game is the tie-breaker.”

“I just want you to be happy.” The expression Seijūrō had was inexplicable, but Kōki still tried to decipher it. Definitely love, he noted as his face heated up. Something as simple as contentedness and satisfaction, as if he’d come home. He turned his face away, a short protest cut off when Seijūrō intercepted his aversion and kissed him.

This was easier than trying to word how he felt or decipher how Seijūrō felt, but rare enough that even Seijūrō was flustered by the warmth. Kōki could count the full days they’d spent together on his hands what with their conflicting schedules, and worked on committing everything to memory. “We’re not enemies,” Seijūrō murmured, almost too softly to hear. Kōki took it as an opportunity to draw himself closer. “We’re rivals.”

“Is there really a difference?”

“A rival can still wish the other team well. And you’re not planning to kill me, are you?”

“We’ll see,” Kōki mused.

“Kōki.”

“What?”

Seijūrō cuffed his cheek, not quite hard enough to be a slap but enough that Kōki jumped out of his skin, saying his name in exclamation. “Pull yourself together,” Seijūrō ordered, not seeming the slightest bit contrite.

“I’ll stick to enemy.” He turned back to his work, letting Seijūrō take his hand and kiss his cheek before following suite.


	72. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anonymous on tumblr

**Two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU**

Anyone could have told Seijūrō that coming to Kuroko and Chihiro’s wedding was a mistake. And they had, to be fair; even Chihiro had said that he’d been invited as a courtesy and they weren’t expecting him to attend. It was even harder than he thought it would be, especially when Kuroko had glowered at him when the officiate had asked if there was any reason they shouldn’t be married.

He’d been tempted to speak up, in all honesty. But if Chihiro wanted to throw away everything they’d had then it was his choice. _Controlling_ him had been what had driven Chihiro away anyway. He’d met Kuroko’s eyes. Nothing to hide. Kuroko knew it all regardless.

Feeling detached afterwards he stayed near the bar and made polite small talk with people he vaguely knew from high school and middle school, until one in particular dropped onto the seat beside him.

“You look like you’re dressed to go to a funeral.”

Like the others, his large brown eyes and small stature was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place his name. “Perhaps I feel like I am at one.” He regretted his words when the boy eyed him much too intelligently for his comfort.

Slowly, he nodded and gave a beaming smile. “What would you say if I told you I felt the same?”

Seijūrō pressed his lips into a tight line and motioned to the bartender for another drink. “Would you like one?”

“Sure.” He gave his order as Seijūrō watched him from the corner of his eye. He must have been at the same high school as Kuroko; they both had the underdog quality that Seirin seemed to have prided itself on cultivating.

“So if you feel the same why aren’t you dressed for the occasion?” he asked, eyeing the grey suit he was wearing. Maybe a little critically; it was cheap but a flattering colour and fit.

He raised an eyebrow as he chewed the wedge of lime that had come with his drink. His lips closed around it and Seijūrō swallowed before turning to his own drink. “I suppose I was trying not to let it show. And I had to match the rest of the band.”

“The band?”

He furrowed his eyebrows and smiled at the same time. “I suppose I don’t make much of an impression. I was on drums.”

Rather frustratingly, Seijūrō had always found musicians particularly attractive. His plainness became something mysterious; he could see slight inklings of an attractive man in the fullness of his lips and the wide innocence of his eyes. He held out his hand. “Akashi Seijūrō,” he said.

“Furihata Kōki.” He took it, pursing those full lips in what seemed like amusement. “So what’s funeral-like about this event to you, Akashi-san?”

He didn’t answer, instead taking a sip of his drink.

“I suppose I can guess. Love is painful enough as it is.”

He didn’t answer, but was pretty sure that Furihata’s sharp eyes could decipher the wince.

Not entirely, though. He wasn’t sure if he’d _ever_ loved Chihiro, if he was honest. He didn’t know if he was capable of allowing himself to feel an emotion like that anymore. Everything was too confusing and clouded by sentiments he had always believed worthless to consider. “What about you?”

Furihata watched him silently for a moment. “I’ve been in love with Kuroko for years. Never told him, so it’s my fault that we never had a chance. I doubt he would be attracted to someone who was biologically female regardless.”

“Why are you telling me?”

He—she?—shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s the champagne or because I sense a kindred spirit in you.” Laughing, he traced his index finger around the rim of his glass and offered nothing else in explanation. When Seijūrō said nothing he glanced up nervously, chewing his bottom lip. “Maybe I’m being too optimistic.”

Someone on the stage called for him and he took off.

Seijūrō wondered if it was normal to feel as if the sun had turned its back on him.

-

Furihata met his eyes once he’d hopped off the stage again and Seijūrō motioned to the chair where he’d sat before. If anything, he was talented and could be a diversion and distraction as he forgot about Chihiro. He obeyed and eyed him quizzically before Seijūrō explained part of it. “I was in a relationship with Mayuzumi a while back and never really got over him.”

He waited for a response, and when Furihata nodded held out his hand. “Do you have the time to dance?”

His cheeks were red—Seijūrō figured that his confidence had been an act—and he fought against a smile unsuccessfully. Grasping his hand firmly when Furihata placed his gently within it, he led Furihata to where the masses were moving. He ignored where Chihiro and Kuroko were enveloped in their own world, such a rare aura and mien of joy and contentedness surrounding them. Nothing that he could have given Chihiro.

Furihata’s eyes were on him, they widened when Seijūrō pulled him closer and put a hand on his waist. He tried to struggle away and froze when Seijūrō stopped him, pressing a hand firmly on the small of his back.

“If you’re trying to make Mayuzumi-san jealous you’re going about it the wrong way,” he said quietly. “They’re not going to notice anything but each other.”

“I have ascertained that fact, Furihata-kun.” It took a few seconds, but finally Furihata accepted it, winding his arms around Seijūrō’s neck.

It was embarrassing, but Seijūrō was the kind of person who thrived on physical contact and affection. Furihata was looking to the side, but his fingers were lightly petting small strands of hair behind his head in time to the music emanating from the piano. He leant his forehead against Furihata’s and lowered his hands—just slightly, enough that he heard Furihata’s breath catch in his throat and his heart hammer like galloping horses in his chest. It really wouldn’t take a lot to bend Furihata to his will. They would help each other and then move on before anybody could be hurt. That was the only way to guarantee an easy life.

“Then what are you doing?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Furihata looked at him, determined even though there was a colour like a breaking dawn on his cheeks. “That really isn’t what I need, Akashi-san.”

He was scared; Seijūrō could feel how painfully obvious it was, but he still met him head on.

It made him weary, and he leant in to brush his lips against Furiha—Kōki’s. “Then we’ll see what happens.” Kōki didn’t look away. “That’s all a relationship is anyway, isn’t it?”

“In its most cynical sense, I suppose.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Seijūrō’s mouth—only a couple of centimetres smaller he didn’t have to reach up. It felt painfully sweet, the slow blossom of warmth in his chest and the fluttering in his stomach. Chihiro would never have made such an affectionate gesture towards him.

-

Sometimes, Seijūrō wondered at the thread of reality and just how intricately it was woven. Take that moment, with Kōki dozing beside him in the hotel room’s bed. If just one thing had changed in his life, it might never have happened. If his upbringing hadn’t led to him having a need to conquer whatever he could, his relationship with Chihiro might have worked. If he’d learnt not to be obstinate, he might not have come to the wedding, and Kōki wouldn’t be with him.

He reached out—his hand was _shaking_ —and touched his hair, held his breath when Kōki shifted, turning to burrow into his arms, mumbling a greeting as he did so.

“Sorry for waking you,” he said. He meant it too. It wouldn’t have bothered him if it was Chihiro, but with the warmth that Kōki exuded he wanted to protect him. That in itself should have persuaded him to leave, but instead he tightened his arms around his slender body.

“’S fine.” Lips were against his jaw. Warmth like a stream of sunlight radiated across where the sheets were trapped between their bodies.

Dangerous. Seijūrō closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He was falling too quickly, like always.

“Akashi-san?” Seijūrō followed suite when he sat up, surprisingly unabashed by his body even if it didn’t match his gender. Seijūrō couldn’t work out if he was confident or shy anymore. “What happened between you and Mayuzumi-san? If you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly.

He’d started wondering whether he’d ever actually felt a real love for Chihiro, but still winced. Chihiro had lied to him from the beginning and it only proved what he’d thought since he was a child; love was fickle. Anything that claimed to love him left soon after. “He cheated on me.” It was something he felt he had to _admit_ , through the burning rage and shame. “With Kuroko, which was a double betrayal. I considered Kuroko to be as close as a brother.” Kōki stared at him, his eyes bright with tears and Seijūrō laughed. “Don’t waste your tears on me, Kōki.”

“Why did you even come?”

Seijūrō was unsure how to answer when he didn’t really know himself. “I… wanted to show them that it didn’t bother me,” he tried. It didn’t seem too outlandish as a theory.

“I… I suppose you find it difficult to trust?”

“I don’t trust people as a rule,” Seijūrō stated.

“That’s lonely.” Seijūrō watched as he chewed on his bottom lip, furrowing his brow in deep thought. “Can I try something?”

Seijūrō cocked his head expectantly, not entirely expecting it when Kōki kissed him chastely. “What is it?” he murmured against Kōki’s lips.

“I’ll work so that you can trust me unreservedly. No matter what it takes, and in return I will l-love you unconditionally.” He pulled back quickly. “Not necessarily romantic or anything like that, but everyone needs someone they can rely on.”

His heart sank when Kōki smiled at him, innocent and unassuming. He would end up dragging him into darkness. “Kōki—”

“You don’t need to look so scared.” He kissed Seijūrō’s cheek as he numbly wondered whether Kōki could just read him or if the mask really had slipped to that extent.

“I’m going to end up driving you away, Kōki.”

“I don’t give up.”

_Then I’ll end up driving you to madness_.

Against his better judgement, he accepted the kisses and touches Kōki bestowed on him.


	73. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of my childhood friends AU

Haizaki, the troll, the ogre, the  _monster_ , had stolen Seijūrō’s queen. 

 It had been entirely the monster’s fault—he’d managed to put on a nice demeanour for a few hours and with Kōki’s sweet nature managed to trick him into going to the sand pit with him. And although Seijūrō felt betrayed, he was crouching in the bushes with the green blanket over his head to make sure his queen wouldn’t be hurt. 

Kōki was too naive. It was that which made him such a good ruler beside Seijūrō and for the majority of their subjects to be so kind to him, but when Haizaki had offered his milk box when _both_  Tetsuya and Kagami the Fire Dragon had taken too many Seijūrō had seen the little gleam in his eye. That wasn’t kindness, it was a cold and calculated move, which he tried to use to explain why he’d slapped the milk box out of Kōki’s hand once he’d accepted it. 

Which had been an awful mistake. Kōki had cried, Haizaki had patted his shoulder and taken him away, Nijimura-sensei had given him a stern telling-off at the mess he’d created and put him in time-out for five minutes. When he’d been let out and forced to apologise to Nijimura-sensei he’d talked to Satsuki, who, right now, was the only of his knights he still trusted with any problems he had with Kōki. She’d suggested keeping an eye on them. 

This was what had led to Seijūrō sat in the bushes with the green blanket to hide his hair and watching as Haizaki chattered pleasantly with Kōki. He knew the monster had an agenda, and Haizaki knew that he knew that, but Kōki was much too innocent and sweet to have the thought occur to him. 

He pressed a hand against the ache in his chest when Kōki beamed at Haizaki, blinked away tears that blurred his vision when Haizaki complimented the sand castle Kōki had been working on. Finally, when Seijūrō was almost tearing his hair out in agitation, Haizaki caught his eye when he shifted and rustled some branches. Seijūrō froze and got ready to duck should Kōki show anything other than total engrossment in his project, and when there was no sign of that glared as ferociously as he could when caught in an uncomfortable position between the branches and with a green blanket over his head.

"What are you doing?" 

At Tetsuya’s sudden question from right beside him, he shrieked and dove to the floor, dragging Tetsuya with him when Kōki looked up. 

"Why didn’t you warn me that you were right there?" he hissed, his hand over Tetsuya’s mouth. 

Tetsuya frowned at him and shook his head until Seijūrō let him up. “I thought you’d hear the branches when I came in.” His mutter was a little disgruntled and Seijūrō waved at him to keep quiet. 

"I’m making sure the ogre doesn’t hurt my queen." 

Tetsuya peered at them. “They seem fine. Why don’t you go play with Midorima-kun?” 

"Because he’s with Takao."

"Murasakibara-kun?" 

"In time out for sneaking into the kitchen and taking more biscuits." 

Tetsuya nodded, not startled at that turn of events, the commotion for which Seijūrō had had the optimum seat to observe from his brief entrapment in time out. “Then why don’t you play with Kagami-kun and I? We’re about to go to the logs.” 

He pointed in the direction of the logs, and Seijūrō shook his head quickly when he spied the Fire Dragon awkwardly standing on one of them. “I’ll stay by my queen’s side even if he banishes me. Just in case.” Tetsuya shrugged as he left and Seijūrō got as comfortable as he could, watching the unfolding events. 

Kōki finished his castle. Seijūrō waited for Haizaki to knock it over, but he didn’t. Haizaki lifted up a handful of sand and Seijūrō waited for him to throw it into Kōki’s face, but instead he sprinkled it over the castle and said, “It’s raining!” in a delighted voice as Kōki laughed and copied him. 

Seijūrō didn’t know what he’d do if Kōki decided to become queen of the ogres instead of the playground, and with that fuelling him burst from the bushes, making Kōki jump out of his skin and Haizaki watch him in amusement. 

"Kōki…" he started, trailing off when he realised he didn’t know what to say. Kōki cradled his hand to his chest. "I’m sorry," he blurted out, sighing with relief when Kōki gave him a small smile. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want you to ever be hurt." He held out his hand. "Which is why you have to break the curse and leave the ogre. Come back." 

Kōki stood, but didn’t take his hand. “Haizaki-kun isn’t an ogre any more. He’s been nice to me.” 

He had worked his way through Kōki already, planted toxic seeds in his mind. “Kōki…” 

"Sei-kun, I think we can accept him again."

He was facing Seijūrō, earnestly begging for his new friend, so he didn’t see how Haizaki’s expression changed to one of utter disinterestedness. “It’s gotten boring now,” he said, standing up. Kōki started to turn towards him in confusion, but not before Haizaki’s hands had raised and he shoved Kōki’s shoulder. Kōki cried out and the sound tore at Seijūrō’s heart as he caught Kōki and fell with him, cradling his smaller body to his chest. His eyes, the same eyes that had looked at Seijūrō with such easy affection and gentle sweetness were closed. He didn’t react when Seijūrō brushed his soft fringe away from his forehead, though his nose wrinkled when the green blanket tickled the side of his neck.

Haizaki looked down at them from his vantage-point, though he didn’t scare Seijūrō. Not any more. 

"He trusted you," Seijūrō accused. "He trusted you, tried to fight for you and this is how you repay him? Your queen?" 

Haizaki rolled his eyes as Seijūrō continued caressing Kōki’s hair, who was muttering “ _Play dead, play dead_ ,” under his breath. 

"Haizaki!" 

Nijimura-sensei’s voice was familiar, and though Haizaki bolted soon after Seijūrō smirked at knowing he’d won, and both his throne and his queen were safe. 

"Kōki-kun, are you hurt at all?" He crouched beside them as he asked, and Kōki sat up with a smile. 

"I’m fine," he said. Squeezing Seijūrō’s hand, he heaved a sigh when Nijimura-sensei left after Haizaki’s sprinting form. "I actually thought Haizaki-kun would start being nice," he lamented. 

"Kōki, I know that he wouldn’t purposefully hurt you, but you have to be more careful." 

"Fine. I will be." He hugged Seijūrō as Nijimura-sensei caught up to Haizaki. "What would you do without your queen, after all?" 

Seijūrō had no answer to that, so instead he mirrored Kōki’s smile and led him to the Wendy house.


	74. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of 12 days of akafuri - flower crown

Furihata Kōki reforms himself to step out of the pond.

It isn’t large, sure, and not even that clear (though he does his best) which was what led to his skin becoming tan and his hair and eyes to turn brown, but he loves that pond. It’s  _his_  pond, his soul and life, every thought and wish and emotion he ever had.

He shakes his head and sneezes when a cherry blossom petal falls out of his hair and tickles the tip of his nose, and when he opens his eyes Akashi Seijūrō is standing in front of him, his arms crossed.

“I have told you  _every year_  for the past  _decade_  to stop putting your petals in my pond!”

The two weeks a year that the cherry blossom tree had enough petals to form a conscience, which manifested itself as Akashi, were always the most problematic point of Kōki’s year. Akashi was difficult to handle and much too proud for someone who had only been alive two weeks a year for eleven years.

“Your…  _puddle_  isn’t even clean. You should be thanking me.”

Kōki growls, his heart aching. In the end, it was true. Pollution had taken over a lot of the lakes and ponds, and his was no exception. It was even reducing in size. He was over a thousand years old, having been formed when this pond had gathered enough water, and it was showing.

A plastic bottle floats near them, and Kōki bends to pick it up with a grimace. “Or maybe you should be helping me in keeping it as clear as possible. All this pollution is tiring me out and your petals make me sneeze.” He looks behind them, to what used to be endless fields and was now a group of houses with a single road running through them. “My hair used to be white, you know,” he says, pinching a brown strand between his fingers.

Akashi pinches a strand of his own red hair between his fingers. His red eyes narrow. “I can’t imagine that looked good.”

Kōki glares, the pond rumbles, water disturbed and visibly angry when Akashi gives a smirk that has Kōki speechless. Instead, he launches the plastic bottle at the trunk of his tree, and they match glares before Akashi pushes him back into his pond. He automatically disperses—it’s nothing he can control—and it takes him a few minutes before he can reform. Akashi is sitting between his tree and the pond when he does, sneezing again. It’s starting to get difficult to breathe. He wonders idly whether he’ll disappear just like the other dryads did.

“I won’t be here much longer,” Akashi says. “Five days at the most. Then you’ll be free for another year.” For some reason, he beams, the same way he did the first year his tree had been planted and appeared as a twelve year old boy.

Kōki almost smiles back and looks at the state of his pond, wondering if he’ll last long enough.

-

The first year Akashi had appeared Kōki had been drawn to him. It had been a few years since Fukuda and Kuroko had dissipated into the air, the pollution too strong to handle, whether to join the clouds or just cease existing. For the three weeks he’d had a conscience he’d been fascinated by anything and everything, asking Kōki so many questions that his head spun from answering them. He learnt as quickly as his tree flowered and shed, and just before he disappeared he gave an impression of being around sixteen years old.

The next year he had the appearance of a twenty-five year old man, a few years older than Kōki seemed, and was so achingly beautiful that Kōki couldn’t help falling for him. He asked fewer questions, but still insisted that Kōki answered what he asked. He still had a childish streak, delighting in covering Kōki’s pond in petals—and Kōki himself, for that matter. He talked to every animal that rested in his tree and Kōki remembered the otters and stoats that used to play in the shallows and the deer that would rest beside him during the longest of the summer days. They’d all long-since vacated, but to Akashi  _this_  was the wild, and infinitely beautiful.

-

Akashi moves a bit slower now, and the tree is starting to be bare. Kōki feels him rather than sees him when he has no form, and materialises a few meters to his left.

“Not long left?”

A wind blows a few more petals off and Akashi shivers. “A few hours I suppose. Maybe a day.” He shivers again and Kōki sits closer to him to share some warmth.

“I do miss you when you’re gone, you know.” Kōki admits it in a quiet voice, watching the water in front of him, no longer clear. Petals circle them and the sun starts dipping towards the horizon stretching in front. It’s staining the sky the same colour as Akashi’s eyes, and he fights to take a clean breath in that doesn’t hurt his chest. The rustling of the petals in the wind is accompanied by the growl of engines behind. “It’s lonely without you bothering me.”

He sees Akashi smile from the corner of his eye, and he leans his head on Kōki’s shoulder. “Next year, remind me that I have to tell you something.”

Kōki nods. His eyes burn when Akashi takes his hand. An hour later, he’s melted into a pile of cherry blossom petals, which disperse in the wind and create beautiful patterns in the air and the water. He looks at the brown water, the emptiness of the surroundings and the plastic wrappers choking the life out of the reeds.

“I’m not going to last that long, Seijūrō,” he says, pressing his cheek against the rough bark of his tree. Whether to cease existing or become something else, he didn’t know, but he didn’t move until he lost consciousness.


	75. AkaFuri

Seijūrō-kun confesses yet again at precisely eleven in the morning. Kōki smiles at him and drops to his knees next to the small boy, stroking his hair. “Seijūrō-kun, you have to stop this.”

He merely narrows his eyes stubbornly and brings a hand out from behind his back to give Kōki a bunch of asters. Kōki’s love of flowers takes over for a moment, and Seijūrō-kun beams as Kōki gushes about how beautiful they are. “And… where did you get them from?” he adds. Seijūrō-kun had been inching forward step by step, and stops with a blush before pointing to one of Kōki’s flowerpots, which  _had_  asters, and now was a ragged mess. “Seijūrō!” he says. He loves children, always has, but of all the children he’d minded, Seijūrō was the most difficult and his favourite. Even with their fourteen year age difference, he was sure that Seijūrō surpassed him in intelligence.

“I wanted to give you a betrothal gift,” he says, regally. How a six year old managed to be regal, Kōki didn’t understand.

And it charms him. Kōki feels his anger melting away, and instead, he presses a kiss to Seijūrō’s hand, who is gazing at him in utter adoration. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, making a final stab at controlling Seijūrō enough to protect his plants. “In fifteen years, find me, and we’ll go out for dinner.”

Seijūrō nods.

“As long as you do exactly as I say, and don’t damage any more of my plants.”

He looks suspicious, more than a six year old should be, but finally nods. “Prepare yourself,” he says solemnly. Kōki straightens and gets back to mixing the batter for the muffins, well accustomed to the way Seijūrō hugs his legs.

He allows that. He suspects that Seijūrō-kun’s parents are too busy to show him much affection.

-

It is sixteen years later that the doorbell rings, startling Kōki out of a reverie. He considers ignoring it and staying under the blanket on his sofa, because it was  _just_  getting to the good part of the film, but growls under his breath as he begins to untangle himself and put the film on pause.

A young man with stunningly red hair and a bunch of asters in his right hand stands at the door.

The image is strange enough that Kōki openly gapes at him, until the man smirks confidently. It’s a beautiful expression on him, he thinks almost numbly, and is suddenly very aware of his slovenly appearance, as if it mattered.  _Must be the wrong house,_  he thinks. After all, this man must be more than ten years younger than him, his clothes are expensive and… was that  _his_  Bentley parked in front of the house?

The man frowns, and this also is a beautiful expression. Kōki feels his face heat up when he realises he even has a hole in his own t-shirt. “I am a year late, but I did not expect that you would forget me so readily, Kōki.”

His first thought is that this man must be deluded if he thought Kōki was anywhere near his league—right now they are practically different species, his second thought is something reminiscent. He looks at the asters that the man hands to him and feels like he should know him. He smiles as Kōki accepts them and Kōki tries sincerely to not let all his blood drain southward. “W-wait…” he says. The man looks at him, red eyes both impossibly beautiful and impossibly intelligent. “Seijūrō-kun?” comes out in a squeak, and Seijūrō gives him the same beam he used to be given sixteen years back. “B-but you’re… you look…” He can feel his skin heating up enough that he’s sure there’s no chance of there being enough to give away  _just_  how attracted he is to this man.

Seijūrō certainly doesn’t help, his smirk makes it obvious that he is well aware of Kōki’s problem. “You made me a promise. I have come to collect it.”

“That was just supposed to be manipulation!”

“I am aware,” he says. “I would like to take you to dinner tonight. Unless you have something better to do.”

“U-uh… no. No, I suppose I don’t,” Kōki admits. “I… just let me get changed first.”

He never moves or changes quicker in his life, thanking his rare lucky stars that he closed the door because he didn’t think he could have survive the embarrassment when he fell down half the stairs coming back down. He flattens his hair, before opening the door, half-expecting it all to have been a dream.

But Seijūrō is still there, inspecting the lavenders along the side of the pathway with a smile. He looks over his shoulder when he hears Kōki’s keys in the door. “Ready?” he asks, the same smile from the lavenders on his face.

Kōki nods, notes with slight annoyance that Seijūrō, as well as being unfairly more beautiful than him, is also a few centimetres taller; just enough that Kōki would have to reach up to kiss him.

He blushes at the thought and scurries after Seijūrō’s figure.

-

The date ( _date_ ) goes well. Too well; after a short moment of awkwardness in the car (understandable; Seijūrō’s chauffeur is right in front of them) they are talking like the oldest of friends. Kōki becomes slightly bolder when Seijūrō takes his hand, and has the very definite pleasure of making Seijūrō’s eyes widen with shock when he strokes Seijūrō’s leg—only his lower leg; he’s not  _quite_  bold enough to venture any higher—with his foot under the table. The expression is short-lived, and immediately replaced by a seductive, predatory smile. Kōki gulps.

It’s Seijūrō who offers to walk him back down his driveway, and when Kōki looks down and thanks him, he’s interrupted by Seijūrō almost roughly pulling his chin up and kissing him. Any kind of argument swiftly exits Kōki’s head, and he grasps hold of Seijūrō’s jacket to pull him over the threshold, not breaking away from the kiss that’s searing with passion and…  _familiarity_. Between the frantic kisses, he asks Seijūrō to stay, and Seijūrō answers by pressing Kōki against the wall and coaxing a sinful myriad of sounds from him with his lips and tongue.

“Upstairs,” Kōki says, his voice cracking when Seijūrō bites his neck, exactly the spot that makes him shiver uncontrollably. He drags himself away, only partially aware of the stairs and entirely aware that Seijūrō is still kissing his neck and undoing the buttons of his shirt. His stomach twists into heated knots with need and lust when he sees the bed. Seijūrō pushes him onto it, and unwilling to leave any daylight between them, he pulls Seijūrō down as well, meeting his lips again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he mumbles, when Seijūrō was pulling his shirt off impatiently. “I don’t want to be… taking advantage of you.”

“I am an adult,” Seijūrō says in response. He reaches between their bodies and presses his palm against Kōki’s clothed erection. Kōki gasps, and it’s muffled by Seijūrō.

“That’s not… enough,” he says, before putting his hand over Seijūrō’s mouth, pulling the other from where it had started to inch down his underwear. “How are you an adult?”

Seijūrō furrows his eyebrows, and in his impatience talks almost too fast to understand. “I’m working on my third degree and I partially manage my father’s company; all the branches in Asia whilst he manages those in Europe and America. I’m having Europe transferred to me in four months.” Kōki listens avidly, thinking about how all  _this_  didn’t seem real. “I’ve been in love with two other people apart from you, and have had my heart broken by both dozens of times. I am in no way a virgin, and I know how to distinguish what I  _want_  from what I  _need_. You, Kōki,” his scarlet eyes meeting Kōki’s, “are what I  _need_.”

Kōki bites his lip. “That’s a compelling argument.” Much too compelling. Seijūrō saying that he _needed_  Kōki had prompted all sorts of unheeded images.

“So?” Seijūrō asks, pairing it with a seductive look and leaning over him so that they were only centimetres apart.

Kōki nods, another gasp wrenched from him when Seijūrō kisses the sensitive spot on his neck in time with the shallow thrusts against his hips and nibbles the curve of his ear. Kōki pays him back by lightly scratching down the length of his back, and somehow he  _knows_  that this works, that a simple act like that leads to Seijūrō almost whimpering and moaning against his neck.

And they move ceaselessly into something which lasts an entire lifetime. 


	76. AkaFuri

Seijūrō tried to remain impassive as he waited for Kōki to round the corner.

Well, he wasn’t trying _too_ hard. He didn’t want to make it seem as if he was attempting to be impassive, and he wanted the right amount of affection to show through. Something that would make Kōki’s heart melt, and _then_ melt into his arms and beg for forgiveness for not having responded to any texts or picked up his phone for three days.

Maybe he should have practiced it in the mirror. He was so used to wearing a mask now that he didn’t really know how to let his real emotions show through any more.

It was so _tiring_. Groaning quietly, he let his head fall into his hands before he heard Kōki’s familiar gait. Maybe this was it. Head in his hands, _no_ one could say he wasn’t agitated.

But when the gait passed him he faltered. Kōki’s shoulders were tense when he looked up, determinedly staring straight ahead. When he called after his boyfriend—the root of all his anxious thoughts at that particular moment—he merely sped up.

It was ungainly to chase after him, so Seijūrō had no choice but to let him leave, watching after him longingly. It wasn’t just the fact that something in his chest was aching when he saw Kōki so unwilling to talk to him; he needed the affectionate physical contact that only Kōki would ever give him. Except maybe Mibuchi, but that was just uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was a waste of time to come down to Tokyo for the week. If Kōki didn’t want to spend any time with him, then that was fine. It would only be a matter of time before he came to Kyoto himself, begging to be taken back. And maybe, as a way of punishment, he _wouldn’t_ accept him straight away. Maybe he’d leave him hanging until he was on his knees.

“Uh… Akashi?” A large hand waved in front of his face and he jumped before meeting Kagami’s eyes. “Are you okay? You’re kind of… muttering a bit.”

He automatically said that he was fine.

It wouldn’t work really. Kōki was stubborn; stubborn enough that he could let this empty space between them build and build until there was no relationship _left_ to wreck. “Where are you going?” he asked, hoping that nothing of the turmoil of his thoughts seeped into his voice.

“MajiBa,” he answered, gesturing down the street. “Meeting up with Kuroko.”

“I’ll join you.” 

Kagami followed him obediently, though Seijūrō could see the little glances Kagami was throwing his way. “So, uh…” he paused. “If you’re in Tokyo, shouldn’t you be with Furihata?”

“Not necessarily,” Seijūrō said stiffly. Was it something about Americans that they always took notice of things that didn’t concern them?

“‘Not necessarily’?” he repeated as Seijūrō almost threw open the door to MajiBa, narrowly avoiding knocking someone over. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

“No.”

Kagami peered at him before pointing at an empty table. “I’ll bring some food over,” he said. “Kuroko should be here soon.”

He sank onto the seat and instinctively flipped open his phone, going to the messages between him and Kōki. In the past days they were sparse, just Seijūrō becoming increasingly more agitated at the lack of communication from Kōki’s side.

Even worse that he didn’t even _know_ why Kōki was refusing to talk to him. One moment he was chatty and loving, and the next coldness had come through the phone like an icy shower. Seijūrō _hated_ his ignorance in the matter as much as he hated any ignorance.

It took Kuroko tapping his hand where it lay on the table before he realised he had company, and when he sighed a greeting Kuroko answered with, “You look rough, Akashi-kun.”

Seijūrō considered calling Kōki one more time and… actually _begging_ ; _that_ was how much he missed him.

“I’m not,” he said.

“Have you talked to Furihata-kun recently?”

Kuroko knew him too well, that was the problem. Kagami would be easy enough to fend off, as was shown when he came back with an impressive pile of food and immediately tucked in without a side glance to either of them. “That’s none of your business, Kuroko.”

Kuroko took a bite from his burger and eyed him. “He’s been moping,” he admitted.

Seijūrō felt hope.

“And considering making a voodoo doll of you,” he continued. Hope started to wane.

“You’re the one who gave him that voodoo book,” Kagami muttered. He glowered when Seijūrō booted Kuroko under the table before looking above Seijūrō’s head. Seijūrō followed his eyes just as Kōki stepped up to them, blocking Seijūrō out with body language which was much too clear to read.

“What are you two doing here alone?” he asked cheerfully. Kagami looked between him and Seijūrō as Kuroko watched wordlessly and avidly.

“Kōki,” Seijūrō said, his voice embarrassingly pleading. He reached to touch Kōki’s hand but was left reaching for nothing when Kōki stepped away. “ _Don’t_ ,” he said firmly, as a warning.

“I suppose I should go,” Kōki said, his voice strained. “I’m meeting up with someone anyway.”

Meeting _up_ with someone? Who could he meet up with instead of Seijūrō? _Why_ would he meet up with anyone instead of Seijūrō? He was in _Tokyo_ for the first time in a while and it was only fair, when Kōki was the most important person in his life, that Kōki would extend that same courtesy to him.

“Who?” he asked.

Kōki put his head to one side. “Did you hear that?” He hummed as Kuroko looked away, hiding a smile that Seijūrō would have rather liked to slap off his face and Kagami, at least, had the decency to lower his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left without a backward glance.

And it _hurt_. It surprised Seijūrō with its intensity. If he was a child he would have hidden under the table with a blanket over his head and wait for his mother to coax him out so he could cry to her about the physical ache which was radiating from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers, but he wasn’t a child any more. His mother wasn’t here anymore. And if _something_ wasn’t done, Kōki wouldn’t be here either.

He heard Kuroko mutter, “ _Finally_ ,” but didn’t have time to ponder over it when he started after Kōki, his knees weakening when he caught up on the street. His hand grasped Kōki’s wrist, felt how tense it was when his hand curled into a fist.

“Kōki, you can’t just…” He trailed off when Kōki glared at him with such fury that he’d never seen before. It was incongruent on Kōki; he was usually so mild.

“I have places to be, Akashi.”

“I’m not letting you go.”

He still pulled against Seijūrō, but one thing that hadn’t changed was how his own strength outclassed Kōki’s. A relatively small tug had Kōki stumbling back against him. “What did I do?” he demanded.

“If you have to _ask_ —”

“Then I’m being human. I can’t read your mind, Kōki.”

Kōki closed his eyes and shook his head furiously. “You always said I was an open book,” he said accusatorially.

Seijūrō was distracted by the curve of his lip and took hold of his slender shoulders. “When you’re in front of me,” he explained. “But that’s so rare that I often forget.”

Kōki was softening already, tears forming at the corners of his eyes though he was stubbornly refusing to let them fall. One more insistent tug and he was stepping into Seijūrō’s arms, shivering as he tightened his own around Seijūrō’s neck. “ _Tell me_ ,” he whispered into Kōki’s ear.

“You don’t trust me.”

Seijūrō stepped back. “ _What_?”

His cheeks were red and he refused to look Seijūrō in the eye before mumbling something.

“Kōki—”

“You don’t like it when I spend time with my friends.”

Seijūrō frowned. “I… what?”

“You get angry sometimes, and you don’t seem to get that I don’t have as much to do as you so I _need_ my friends so I’m not completely isolated.”

His lower lip stuck out, and he sighed when Seijūrō curved a hand around the nape of his neck.

“Fine; it hurts when other people see you every day,” he admitted.

“Sei—”

“I’ll work on it.” Kuroko had told him a while back that relationships required compromise, and if he had to compromise having Kōki for himself, and _only_ for himself he would have to live through it. “Just don’t ignore me anymore.”

“I forgive you too easily.”

“I’ll try not to take advantage of that,” he said, half seriously, though Kōki rolled his eyes before kissing him.


	77. NijiFuri

Nijimura Shūzō was not a stalker.

He _wasn’t_. His problem was that he apparently’d had a regression into what he’d hoped had been his _outgrown_ rebellious period (except for that weird gang stint when he was in LA but he tried to forget that). Once the damage had been cleaned up and he’d tried to explain tampering with fire safety equipment he’d been given a choice; community work outside the university (which meant pretty much cleaning the streets) or within the university (in the library for the rest of the year).

Not to say he would have chosen the outside work in any case, but he honestly thought he was catching a lucky break when they suggested the library.

After all, his interest in one of the students, Furihata, who worked in there a lot hadn’t been short-lived and quickly replaced as he’d expected when he’d first seen him. Working in there, at least, he could _probably_ find some time to ask him out on a date, be shot down, and consequently mope for a bit before moving on.

Though there were things he hadn’t considered before. First, he’d been in the library maybe three times since he’d come to uni, contenting himself with information on the internet for his work, and second, the library was _massive_.

He didn’t understand how it fit into one room, and when Furihata had handed him a box of books (proving he was a lot stronger than he seemed; even Shūzō was having trouble carrying it) and asked him to put them away he immediately panicked. “Uh…” he started. Furihata looked at him with an odd mixture of patience and… was that irritation? Confusing. “Where do I put them?”

“On the shelves?”

Shūzō was speechless as Furihata went back to scanning books.

“It’s just…” he started. Furihata flicked a glance over to him. “I don’t really spend that much time in the library, you know?”

“I am aware,” Furihata said.

He’d noticed? Hiding a smirk, he readjusted his hold on the box of books by balancing it on one leg lifted up like a… flamingo, actually. He was pretty sure Furihata’s expression was amused as he swayed on one leg. “So I’m not really sure where they go.”

“It’s the Dewey Decimal system,” Furihata said. He could have been speaking gibberish for all Shūzō understood.

He could explain that. He _was_ intelligent and had a high IQ for anything pertaining to sport but anything that didn’t immediately interest him he switched off at. He’d managed to get through any exams by cramming and stuffing himself full of caffeine (bad idea in the long run, but short-term never had any awful side effects apart from crippling paranoia in the hours following), and probably pure luck that they’d never checked the inside of his shirt cuff which he’d always found a useful place to write formulae.

Furihata frowned at him. “There’s a number on the spine. Match it up with the numbers on the shelves. Everything is in numerical order.”

Shūzō nodded and purposefully flexed his muscles before Furihata gave him an odd look.

-

It wasn’t the most ideal of circumstances.

The principle problem _was_ that the library was massive. The problems which branched off from then on was partially down to that and partially due to Shūzō’s very rare visits. Even with his crush on Furihata he hadn’t felt the need to come in when Furihata was in an advanced Biology course, and had some lectures the same time as he. So everything he did took way too long, and he even got lost a couple of times amongst the bookshelves looming like trees in a forest. Furihata was patient, it had to be said, and even laughed at a few of Shūzō’s jokes about books flying off shelves to attack them (only one, actually, though it had fallen on his head, but it was worth it to be able to commit Furihata’s laugh to memory).

But he hadn’t quite been able to figure out how to ask him out two weeks after his forced community service. He’d become a lot more efficient, no longer got lost, and had developed the skill needed to not drop books on his head when retrieving them from high shelves (Furihata had said that was a pity, with a gleam in his eye that made him wonder if he was flirting or not). He _did_ decide every morning that that would be the day but Furihata had a horrific habit of making him tongue-tied and tripping over his own words (which didn’t happen to Shūzō. It just didn’t) with just a smile. Every evening when he came back from his two hour shift he would collapse face down either on his floor or his bed, before guilt compelled him to start working. He felt guilty enough that he’d left his family in the aftermath of his father’s death and adding a failing university career would only make it worse.

The low point—lowest of his life—was when he asked his little sister for advice and after calling him an idiot a few times she said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, “Just ask. You don’t have to make it complicated.”

It resonated in him. Because why _should_ he make it this complicated? He’d had no shortage of admirers over the years—definitely enough that he could believe he was reasonably attractive—and it wasn’t as if Furihata gave off a particularly straight vibe. He wasn’t asking Furihata to marry him. He was asking him out on a date. Just one measly date, and they could work out the rest later.

With renewed conviction which only waned a little when he saw Furihata cheerfully talking to some upperclassman, he decided to jump in feet first, which he did as soon as there was a lull in the library.

The broken explanation, which he couldn’t _entirely_ recall but he knew that he’d said something about possibilities being as numerous as stars in the sky—weird, he knew that—ended with, “So… basically, I, uh, like you.”

When Furihata looked at him with colour heightening his cheeks and his eyes wider than a deer being shot at, and Shūzō wondered if he should have rehearsed what he was going to say a little more… maybe used cue cards with quotations from books he’d noticed Furihata reading. Maybe he should have just walked up and kissed him with no explanation. Maybe he should have completely cut the speech and just asked him out. Regardless, it was too late now, so instead of trying to think about what he’d said, he blocked out everything. “Well… I have work to do,” he said awkwardly when Furihata still hadn’t responded. “And you don’t mind if I leave, right? What with… right.”

Furihata still called after him, but with diminishing hopes he left.

-

He was never taking advice from his sister again.

Of _course_ it had to be that complicated. Of course an intelligent human wouldn’t expect something so simple. Humans operated less and less on instinct these days, and Furihata even less than most. What he should have done was… write a letter. Then if Furihata wasn’t interested he would be able to pretend he’d never received it and that would be it.

But his decision the next day was to act as if nothing had happened. He would go into the library, give his normal greeting and hopefully Furihata would chirrup his own usual one and give him some books to put away.

Not that it went according to plan.

First, he stopped in front of Furihata, who turned bright red and dropped the books he was holding. “N-Nijimura-san!” he said in a high-pitched voice. “I didn’t know if… uh…” He licked his lips and Shūzō resolutely looked somewhere over his head. “You know,” he continued. “Usually people wait for an answer to the question before they leave.”

He was going to turn him down and _then_ move on? That was too cruel.

“I didn’t ask you anything,” he said. He sounded gloomier than he wanted. It was true; in all he had said about how looking at Furihata was like looking into infinity and something inside him _called_ for Furihata so desperately, he never actually asked him out.

“Then ask me.” Furihata’s brow was furrowed beneath his fringe, sparing short glances towards Shūzō before turning away desperately to pass some books through the scanner. “If you want to. I understand if you don’t, but—”

“Kōki,” he said experimentally. Furihata looked up swiftly, his hand pausing. “S-sorry, I thought—”

Of all the things he’d thought _might_ go well with the time he finally wrought up enough courage to confess, he’d never thought Furihata would be the type to take initiative and kiss him. He’d always seemed so demure and dignified and too _shy_ to make such a forward step, but his face was suddenly cradled in Furihata’s hands and he was reaching up to press their lips together, letting Shūzō twist his hands through soft hair and muffle quiet gasps with his lips. There was nothing he could do to halt the building intensity when Furihata pressed against him, dragged his hands down his chest as if he would tear his heart right out of his chest. Tentatively, he reached for Furihata’s hips to pull him even closer, probably too tightly when Furihata shivered deliciously and murmured his name, slipped his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He forgot where he was and that anyone could walk in.

Which was what they did. Furihata had tugged him back until he was against the counter, quietly whispering to him as Shūzō muffled his words, when a loud gasp from the doorway prompted Shūzō to step back quickly.

And be entirely mortified when he caught the equally mortified eye of the ancient librarian, who probably _hadn’t_ expected to come in and find two teenage boys making out.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Furihata said, though when Shūzō cast a look in his direction he was pressing his reddened lips together to stifle laughter.

“Out,” the librarian ordered. A short laugh broke past and Shūzō kept his eye on Furihata, who, right now, was nothing less than stunning. Taking his hand, Furihata pulled him away, ducking past the librarian with a lot more mirth than chagrin. Shūzō couldn’t let himself feel humiliation either in response and held his slender hand with all the strength he could manage.

“So?” Furihata asked once he’d taken them to an empty study room and locked the door. He put his head to one side and let out a sigh when Shūzō kissed his neck. “Do you at least have a question to my answer?”

Shūzō kissed the blush on his cheeks. “I… do I have to?”

Furihata cocked an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he said in a low voice, pressing into Furihata again and waiting until he clutched at Shūzō with a desperation that rivalled his own. “Will you go out with me?”

Furihata nodded before claiming his mouth again and saturating Shūzō’s entire world with aching beauty and want.


	78. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for akafuri drabble weekend

Kōki didn’t want to say that his partner was the spawn of Satan, but he couldn’t refute it. Seijūrō was the spawn of Satan.

First, there were the red eyes. Secondly, it was just how _demanding_  they could be. Third, it was their ability to withstand burning temperatures.

Which was the crowning touch, really. Of course, it was starting to be freezing outside, but that was  _no_  need to have such a boiling hot bath. Seijūrō had persuaded him to share it—fourth, they could be devilishly persuasive—but as Kōki had allowed them to fill the bath themselves, they’d  _naturally_  made it as hot as possible.

Kōki had dipped a hand in before jumping back at the scalding temperature, cradling it to his chest protectively as he glared at Seijūrō.

“Are you  _trying_  to give me third degree burns?”

Seijūrō opened their eyes and blinked at him. “Kōki—”

“No, Sei. I’m not going in.”

“But it’s cold.”

“The water’s too hot!”

A corner of their mouth quirked up (fifth, that  _infernally_  seductive smirk whether they meant for it to be or not). “You’re shivering,” they said as Kōki hopped from one leg to the other on the cold tiles.

“I can’t handle the heat, Sei.”

Another full-on smirk as they cast a look down Kōki’s body, before rolling their eyes and reaching for the cold water tap. “Fine, I’ll cool it down.”

Kōki waited, still glaring, until Seijūrō curled up and shivered as if they were being submerged in ice water. Testing the waters (still a little too warm, but he was starting to pity Seijūrō) he climbed in and settled between Seijūrō’s legs to press his lips to theirs.

After all, he might as well warm them up another way.


	79. MayuAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anonymous on tumblr

It was usually in the lull, when Akashi settled, either falling asleep or resting and Chihiro was left unable to come anywhere close to sleep, that he found he couldn’t breathe.

It hadn’t been like that in the beginning, when this had been merely a way to pass time and there was nothing real attached to it, but since Akashi had confessed he’d felt as if ice-cold water had been creeping to his chest. His lungs were already burning from the realisation that he’d taken it too far, that there was no way he’d escape from demonic clutches.

And that, perhaps, he didn’t  _want_  to.

Akashi stirred, his first act to kiss Chihiro’s jawline before mouthing at his chest, just above where his heart was threatening to tear his body apart to escape.

“This is mine,” he said, his nails digging into Chihiro’s shoulder until he could feel the welts.

Chihiro wanted to resist and say that  _nothing_  belonged to Akashi, not even his own achievements, but instead his words were cut off when he kissed Chihiro, holding onto his hair so he couldn’t fight back. Even if he wanted to.

He wondered whether he would always hear the sound of water surrounding him.


	80. MayuAka

**AkaMayu – Light**

The first time Chihiro heard Akashi being described as the ‘light to his shadow’, he wrote it off as Reo trying to show off. He never understood why he felt the need to; he had enough attention from his looks and skill, any more he couldn’t imagine would be anything more than unwanted attention.

It happened the first time they successfully performed an alley oop. Akashi had insisted the failure of it the previous dozen or so times was Chihiro’s fault (though there was that one time when he’d jumped a little high and scrabbled in the air for a few moments before dropping to the floor—as hilarious as it had been, the extra laps Akashi had forced him to run in retribution to his laughing had not been worth it, and neither had how rough he was the next day when helping him stretch), and when he managed to throw it at the right time and the right angle for Akashi to force it through before dropping gracefully back to the ground, Akashi looked at him with something like exasperation.

 

“You’ve finally understood that you have to time the throw to my jump?”

If it had been anyone else, Chihiro would have been quite proud that his sarcasm was rubbing off on someone way too serious for his age, but he would rather it hadn’t been directed at him.

“I knew that from the beginning, Akashi.”

“Knowing in  _theory_  means nothing.”

If Akashi hadn’t been so delicate-looking and Chihiro had been some sort of savage, he would have punched him a long time ago. It was getting close to boiling point, no matter what kind of punishment Akashi would inflict on him later.

“That was really good!” Reo almost shouted, taking hold of Chihiro’s upper arm and squeezing it until Chihiro jerked away. “You really are becoming the shadow to Sei-chan’s light.” He smiled at Akashi, who threw the ball back at Chihiro.

“Again.”

If anything, Chihiro believed that Akashi was more of an eclipse blocking out the light, but he still threw the ball as best he could, bracing himself when it missed Akashi’s hand by several centimetres and thinking instead of the light novel he’d started the night before.

Come to think of it, Akashi resembled the main character a little too close for comfort.

“ _Again_.”

-

Strangely enough, if anyone had asked him outright, he would have had to grudgingly admit that Akashi had been the light in his path. It had been the last straw when he’d joined the team and become captain within the first week, Reo quite happily being demoted to vice-captain, and he’d quit immediately (not that anyone had noticed or cared much, but having one less responsibility in his third year would only be beneficial), not expecting that  _Akashi_ , of all people, had noticed, and was even interested in him. He threw out a lifeline, and Chihiro grasped onto it before he’d even realised. He didn’t mind the fact that no one noticed him, but at least this way he could catch vestiges of glory for  _himself_ , rather than watching as the team performed without him.

“What are you thinking about?”

It was the quiet moment on the roof before the others arrived, which Chihiro enjoyed a lot more than he should. Akashi had taken to not moving away if their shoulders were touching (which he didn’t understand, but it didn’t particularly offend him so he allowed it also). He placed the book he’d taken from Chihiro against his leg.

He considered not answering. There was no way, after all, to tell if he asked because he was concerned or just wanted more methods to control him.

“Nothing,” he said.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Akashi replied.

His eyebrows were furrowed. Concern? For Chihiro himself or for the good of the team?

“Just thinking that my third year is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.”

“You’ve improved quicker than I expected.”

Unable to decide if he should be offended or not, Chihiro continued without acknowledging. “I realised that I actually do enjoy basketball. Maybe you haven’t been wasting my time.”

He  _probably_  shouldn’t have said it like that. As much as Akashi had started to understand when he was being sarcastic, saying such a thing outright would only cause trouble. “ _I_ haven’t been wasting my time,” he corrected, rolling his eyes when Akashi turned to the front.

“Ultimately, it is your decision. I can’t stop you from leaving the club.”

“But I don’t  _want_  to leave.”

He should have seen it coming. Completely objectively, he knew the symptoms of attraction like he now knew Akashi’s pace and how to perfectly match the release of the ball with his jump, but _surely_  Akashi was too young to feel that himself. The way he looked at Chihiro then was just some strange coincidence, Chihiro projecting tiredness from reading a particularly romantic light novel the night before, even when he leant in, one hand braced on Chihiro’s leg for balance, and pressed a slow kiss to his mouth.

And like that, he had gained another way to control Chihiro by making him an instantaneous addict of the way his eyes fluttered shut, the small intake of breath he took when Chihiro reached out to touch his hip, the way the tips of his fringe brushed against his own. Chihiro kept his eyes open, blind to everything but Akashi.

When he pulled back, the rest of the team bursting through the door a few seconds after, the sun had been blocked out by the clouds.


	81. MayuAka

Bad Habits (MayuAka)

Trying to piece together the series of events that had led to this—Seijūrō asleep in Chihiro’s arms, head on his chest, legs tangled together—always gave him cravings like nothing else. Having been awake for about an hour now, it was getting difficult to breathe and he was cold; almost shivering. The cigarettes were on the bedside table the other side from where he was; they’d fallen asleep on the wrong sides the night before.

He took a breath, brushed his fingers through Seijūrō’s hair in an effort to wake him gently (any other way was—frankly—dangerous) and when that didn’t work stretched his arm out to pick up the box.

He couldn’t reach, and from the way Seijūrō tightened his arms around him and sighed there was no way he would be getting free.

“Seijūrō,” he said, prodding his shoulder until he rolled over, burying his face in Chihiro’s pillow. He grabbed the cigarettes and lighter, took one out with the swiftness and ease that came from several years of practice, and lit it up.

He could breathe again and the room warmed around him as Seijūrō sat up, fixing him with a glare. “I thought you were going to quit?”

Chihiro almost laughed at the thought. “When did I say that?”

Seijūrō ran his hands through his hair (one thing that he had never admitted to; having awful bed hair), the familiar look of disdain probably trying to discourage him. Chihiro took another drag and smiled as pleasantly as he could manage.

“It’s a bad habit.” Seijūrō kissed his shoulder before biting his collarbone, raising an eyebrow when Chihiro pushed him away.

“So are you.”

“How romantic.” It could bring him to his knees, the dark look Seijūrō gave him, but instead he leant in, tipped his chin up and kissed him quickly, wondered briefly whether Seijūrō was even able to feel anything close to what he did at such a simple, almost  _domestic_  gesture. He doubted it.

Seijūrō regained control, waiting until Chihiro shivered from his touch before he pulled away. “Don’t get ash on the sheets,” he reprimanded. His nose wrinkled as he looked at the cigarette held loosely in Chihiro’s hand and Chihiro stubbed it out once he’d left the room.

He blamed light novels when he thought about what had brought them together, loosely woven, weak strings, becoming thick ropes over time. Maybe, he thought, throwing the box of cigarettes back on his bedside table, he was addicted to Seijūrō as well.


	82. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for akafuri drabble weekend

Akashi Seijūrō was more than a little disconcerted when the boy who had been standing behind him in the line suddenly made an odd squawking sound and darted forward to stand beside him. He looked up from his phone in response, raised an eyebrow when he grabbed hold of his arm and begged, “Please pretend you’re with me.”

His expression was an odd cacophony of emotions; pleading, fear, a bit of shock when he met Seijūrō’s eyes and embarrassment. Cocking his head and smiling as pleasantly as he could manage (it was a good test to see how far he could take someone; and this boy passed with flying colours when his mouth actually dropped open for a moment). “Why should I?” he asked.

“A… a murderer just walked in.”

_Really_.

“Murderers look just like anyone else so how would you know?”

“Th-they do.” He looked up at Seijūrō distrustfully, at which he was rather offended. First, he did _not_ look like everyone else; various people’s reactions to him had led him to the indisputable realisation that he was more attractive than most, though maybe not as much as some of his friends. Second, _he_ had grabbed hold of his arm. “Uh…” he started, letting go, finally, but still making no attempt to move away. “My ex just walked in and I was suddenly very aware that I was alone. I don’t want him to think that I’m still pining over him.”

“Are you?” Seijūrō asked, half because he was intrigued and half because waiting in this queue was boring enough—he _knew_ he should have taken up his father’s offer to have another coffee machine installed in his office after his own broke. And it wasn’t his fault. How was he to know that overheating would cause a small fire? He should probably sue the makers for making such an unstable machine. “Because it does seem as if you aren’t, and so isn’t this an opportunity to talk things through with him?”

As he wondered why he was even bothering with giving advice to someone who seemed legitimately unstable, the other boy whined. “Not looking like _this_!” He shook his head as Seijūrō wondered what he was talking about. He was a little ruffled, sure; certain strands of hair on the left side of his head were sticking out at an odd angle and there were shadows under his eyes. His sweater and jeans may have been old and had stains of paint on them, but to Seijūrō he looked… appealing. Almost cosy. “The _dream_ is to actually look nice and _together_ when you bump into your ex, right? Not running on two hours of sleep in over thirty-six hours and wearing the oldest clothes you could possibly find in the far reaches of some blasted closet belonging to someone who has no fashion sense whatsoever—” He broke off and glanced sheepishly at Seijūrō, who honestly didn’t know what he was talking about. After all, an ex was an ex, wasn’t it? So what was the point of looking appealing or not if you happened to run into them?

“Pretend we’re together, then?”

“I can buy your coffee for you. I think I have enough.” He dug in a pocket for a moment and brought out a few notes.

“That’s fine. I can buy my own.”

“Uh… I’ll leave as soon as he does. Thank you for this.”

Seijūrō observed him, the way he looked at him in an uncomplicated, trusting way, the normal cut of his hair and colour of his eyes, his entirely average features and build—only a little smaller than he—his scuffed but comfortable looking shoes and showed a rare, true smile that had him giving a sharp intake of breath. “I’m Akashi Seijūrō,” he said.

“Furihata Kōki,” he said almost weakly, shivering when Seijūrō put an arm around his waist.

“Tell me if it’s too much, but I think we should make it a little more obvious that we are an item.”

“That’s alright,” he breathed out, momentarily shutting his eyes tightly before swiftly looking over his shoulder. “He’s still here. A-and he’s looking over. He’s actually looking over.” He covered his face with his hands. “This is so _awkward_ , why don’t I just go over to him?”

Seijūrō pressed his lips together and followed where Kōki had been looking, easily picking out the ex as a relatively plain, slightly older-looking man who was gaping at them both. He didn’t seem like anything special. Nothing which explained how agitated Kōki was. “I’m guessing you broke up for a reason?”

Kōki nodded. “He could be pretty controlling. But maybe I just wasn’t flexible enough? Should I have been more understanding? He hasn’t had the easiest life, after all.” He was begging Seijūrō to say something, though he couldn’t work out what. He doubted Kōki even knew.

“If he was controlling then it’s not worth it. Live your life and forget about him.”

“Three years. I was with him for three years.” He shot a glance from the corner of his eye. “He’s still looking. He’s… oh no.”

“What?”

“I think he’s coming over.”

Maybe it was how obviously afraid Kōki was. Maybe the force with which his hands were trembling. Maybe Seijūrō’s own hatred of being and feeling controlled, but he tightened his arm around Kōki protectively as if it was instinct. “Do you want to talk to him?”

“I…” His face twisted. “No. No, I don’t. I want to forget him.”

“Then forgive me, but…” Tilting up Kōki’s chin so that he met Seijūrō’s eyes, he leant in to kiss him. Which he’d _meant_ to be something chaste and gentle, which gave the impression of a serious relationship, until Kōki grabbed hold of his shoulders to keep him in place.

Apparently, he didn’t take into account Kōki’s obvious initial attraction to him and his own sudden surge of affection enough. He could have pulled away, even with Kōki clutching at him, could have told him that this wasn’t the time or place, but he didn’t care. _This_ was what he needed and wanted, and Kōki was both oxygen and the finest of pearls. When Kōki pulled away to look at him in a painfully wondering way he felt like he was holding onto a precipice, not dangerously close to falling but judging the distance and certainty that he would emerge in one piece. Kōki leaned in again and Seijūrō’s breath caught in his throat. It was so tempting to forget everything but him, blow off the meetings he had lined up and do something spontaneous and probably completely ill-advised.

“Excuse me? It’s your turn,” someone behind them in the queue said and Kōki jolted back, almost tripping up over his own feet.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t mean… sorry.” He darted up to the counter, whether to escape or gather himself. Seijūrō smiled at the blush which spread to his ears, and followed.


	83. KagaAkaFuri

The sound of an animal whining in pain always put Kōki in a protective mood like nothing else could. He had always assumed it was natural; the strong reaching a protective wing over those who couldn’t protect themselves, and he was a complete goner when the source of the whining intercepted his path, flopping onto his back and waving a front paw which currently had a large thorn stuck in it.

“Oh, you poor _thing_.” He dropped to his knees beside the dog… well, it looked like a shiba inu but was a lot larger, and took hold of the paw to pull out the thorn. He expected the dog to run off as soon as he could, but he stayed, looking up at Kōki with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. And Kōki fell in love.

Which was an _awful_ idea. No matter how kind the dog was, or how lovingly he was looking at him with those eyes, he _couldn’t_ take it back. Taiga was one thing; even the sound of a dog barking on the street had him trembling. Kōki was sure that the dreams he had when he continuously mumbled ‘ _Not the teeth, not the teeth,_ ’ was of his experience with a dog when he was in America. And the other problem was Seijūrō. Though he stubbornly insisted that he _wasn’t_ frightened, not at all, not in the least, it was hard to ignore that the first time he properly met Nigou he was shaking like a leaf and suddenly seemed very interested in keeping Kōki in front of him at all times and between him and the excessively friendly animal. It didn’t make sense, to be fair, back when it had been just him and Seijūrō and his father had _almost_ had an ultimatum at his son’s relationship, but still accepted it, Kōki had seen the pictures of him as a child next to various dogs that were bigger than him. His father had been no help in deciphering why Seijūrō was suddenly afraid of them; he’d just shrugged and said something about not having much time in analysing his son’s fears.

Kōki ruffled the dog’s ears and slowly got up to move away.

The dog followed.

“No, you can’t come with me. Where’s your owner?” Naturally, there was no response, but he was still looking up at Kōki as if he was the light in his life. Kōki walked forward, he trotted beside him. He stopped, and the dog stopped. “Fine,” he said, unable to hold back the smile when the dog wagged his tail. “You can come with me.” Sure, the dog was large and probably rather loud, but he was _sure_ he could hide it for a few hours, at least the time to make a few calls and print up some posters. Taiga and Seijūrō wouldn’t be back from the court for at least another couple of hours.

He could do this, he could do this, he could do this. He would extent a helping hand to both the dog and the owners. “Okay, quickly,” he warned the dog, before running down the street, the patter of his paws following him on the pavement.

It was probably a bit much, but he still cooked up a quick dinner for the animal as he made some calls to Kuroko (who laughed and wished him luck) and to the Department of Health to report him before he heard Seijūrō and Taiga opening the gate. The dog looked towards the door with his ears pricked, his head going from one side to the other, and Kōki swore before diving to a cupboard. “In you go!” he hissed. The dog trotted up to him, gave him what could only be described as a puzzled look, but reluctantly obeyed when Kōki shoved him in, shut the door and leant against it just as Seijūrō walked in.

“Brace yourself,” he said, and Kōki was confused for a moment before Taiga burst in, half-pushing Seijūrō out of the way and collapsing on the sofa.

“You won?” Seijūrō nodded with a small, triumphant smile and Kōki rolled his eyes. “Both of you are children,” he continued.

“Why do you look so flustered?”

Kōki blinked and pressed against the door harder when he heard scrabbling on the other side and Taiga looked over his shoulder, frowning at the noise. “Just… thinking about you,” he lied, only feeling a little guilty when Seijūrō’s eyes softened.

“Shower, Taiga,” he said, and Kōki let out a relieved sigh.

“I’m not showering with you.”

“Just go, Taiga!” Kōki insisted, and he looked at Kōki curiously.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Well… I don’t want you two fighting, do I?” Taiga exchanged a look with Seijūrō and shrugged before pulling off his top.

And they were almost up the stairs when the dog barked, and Taiga almost fell right back down as Seijūrō froze and looked at Kōki. “What was that?”

Kōki coughed, trying to make it sound like a bark. “I think I’m coming down with something. You two should probably stay away to stay… uh… healthy,” he tried, before smacking his forehead when the dog howled. Really, how was he supposed to explain _that_?

“Is there a dog here?”

Kōki almost laughed at just how terrified they both looked—even Seijūrō was letting the mask slip—before he opened the door and let the dog amble out, barking happily at the new people. Kōki grabbed onto him before he bounded up the steps, muffling a laugh in the fur of his neck when Taiga grabbed Seijūrō’s shoulders as if he was a shield. “He’s kind, I promise.”

“Why is it _here_?” Seijūrō asked, trying to push Taiga’s hands away from his shoulders. The dog barked again, and though it _sounded_ pretty terrifying, Kōki would have thought his manically wagging tail would have helped matters.

“He was injured and following me. I couldn’t just leave him in the street!”

“Kōki—” Taiga said, scrabbling at Seijūrō’s shoulders again.

“I’ve made the necessary calls. I’m just going to keep him until his owners pick him up.”

“Shower,” Seijūrō said, before starting back up the stairs. “And get rid of that dog as soon as you can.”

The dog stared at Kōki mournfully as Taiga followed Seijūrō. “What can I do?” he lamented, pulling his ears and kissing the top of his head. “My boyfriends are cowards,” he said louder, smirking a little when the door to the bathroom slammed shut.

-

It was a good idea, actually. Taiga and Seijūrō’s frequent tiffs often gave Kōki a splitting headache and considering homicide, and with the dog in the house they suddenly realised that they had things to do out that evening. After uncertain glances towards where Kōki was sitting with the dog on the sofa they almost pushed each other out of the door, throwing a half-assed excuse over to Kōki. And Kōki relaxed into the silence and the softness of the dog’s fur.

He kind of hoped that the owner would never collect him. Taiga had become more accustomed to Nigou with time. He even walked him out alone. It was one thing that he hadn’t entirely realised when he’d gotten into this relationship; he had no chance of having a dog himself with his partners terrified of them.

Already in bed by the time they got back, he did feel a little guilty when he heard the two come in and see the dog on the bed, have a small argument over who would attempt to get it off before deciding to sleep downstairs. Which was a little lonely, even when he was hugging the dog. It wasn’t as if he was bothering to hug back.

“I suppose I can’t replace them to that extent,” he said to him the next morning, and he rolled onto his back, thwacking his tail on the bed. “So I hope your owner comes soon.”

It was true that he was feeling something like withdrawal symptoms from not being between the two of them when he woke, Seijūrō already scanning through his emails and Taiga taking up enough space for three people alone, either still rock-still as he slept or glaring at the ceiling in agitation if he had a game that day. The dog followed him when he hopped off the bed and went downstairs. And… odd. Taiga was asleep on the smaller sofa with his legs tucked up, exactly the opposite to how he usually slept, whilst Seijūrō was folding up blankets which were on the larger sofa. “Why’s Taiga on the smaller one?”

Taiga stirred and glowered at Kōki. “He lost at rock-paper-scissors,” Seijūrō explained pleasantly. “I’ve filled up the dog’s water bowl, by the way.”

Kōki stepped into his arms. “I’m sorry for letting him sleep in the bed.”

“You should be apologising to me,” Taiga grumbled. “As Seijūrō kept on insisting, _he_ isn’t afraid of dogs.” Which was fair enough, especially with how nervously he was looking towards the kitchen where the dog was lapping at the water, so Kōki untangled himself from Seijūrō’s arms to kiss Taiga.

“I’m not going to apologise for taking him in,” he said, sitting beside Taiga and feeling Seijūrō follow him to press his lips to his neck. “I’m not so cruel that I can leave him outside where anything could happen.”

“I know. You could’ve taken him to Kuroko though.”

“And if he didn’t get along with Nigou?” Kōki retorted. He felt Seijūrō smile against his neck.

Taiga shrugged, looked over at where the dog had stretched out on his side behind the sofa and shivered before leaning in to kiss Kōki again.

Kōki soaked it all in. Even a dog, no matter how kind and affectionate, could never replace _this_.

-

The owner called that evening and arranged to pick him—Mika—up in the morning, gratitude clear in her voice at the knowledge that he was safe, and Kōki stubbornly fought tears that welled up once he’d put the phone down and knelt beside the dog. He pressed a cold nose to Kōki’s neck and licked his cheek. “I’ll miss you, Taiga,” he crooned to Mika, who wagged his tail.

“ _What_ did you call him?” Taiga hissed indignantly. “Why not call him Seijūrō?”

Seijūrō cracked one eye open from where he’d been lounging against Taiga. “Seijūrō’s too fancy for a dog,” Kōki explained. “But his owner’s coming tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“There was a twenty-five thousand yen reward for him.”

Taiga’s eyebrows shot up and Seijūrō frowned pensively. “I have a business idea,” he said.

“We’re not stealing dogs and collecting the rewards.” He smiled at Kōki’s tone, and Kōki was relieved that it was at least not _serious_.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Kōki insisted cheerfully, forcing a smile.

Except it turned out he wasn’t quite fine. The next morning he hid in Taiga’s arms, Seijūrō pressed up behind him, a hand wandering comfortingly over his ribs and shoulders and hoping that the owner had forgotten. Of course they hadn’t, and the dog was ecstatic to see her. Kōki accepted the reward and her thanks before slowly closing the door behind them. Turning around, he bumped into Seijūrō and looked at him curiously when he exchanged a glance with Taiga. “We’ve been talking.”

The was no reason for it to, but the words struck fear into his heart. They weren’t about to tell him they were going their own way? Maybe letting the dog in the bed really had been a last straw. He clutched at Seijūrō’s shirt, trying to force his lower lip to stop trembling by biting into it, got goosebumps when Seijūrō curved his hand over his neck. “About what?” he forced out.

“If you really want, we can get a dog.”

Kōki stared. “ _What_?”

“As long as it’s not allowed upstairs,” Taiga interjected. “And is quite small. I don’t want to be tricked again like I was with Nigou.”

Kōki hid a smile at his stubbornness—how had he not realised that a malamute would grow up to be a very large dog?—and Seijūrō brushed some errant tears away with his thumb. “You really don’t mind?”

Seijūrō did look distinctly uncomfortable—both did—but he still sighed, kissed his forehead and shook his head. “As long as you abide by what Taiga said and it’s well-trained I suppose I don’t mind.” Kōki kissed him, partly aware of Taiga walking over to join them. “It’s not like I’m _scared_ of dogs.”


	84. AkaFuri

Furihata Kōki wished he had the bravery to key a car.

No, he wished he had the bravery to absolutely _trash_ it. He wanted a wheel the other side of the road, the bonnet haphazardly tossed near the streetlight and those stupid real leather seats (which looked so unbelievably soft but that was beside the point) stuck on a pike like a flag as a warning that no one messed with Furihata Kōki.

Even though he’d said nothing for weeks on end. The owner of the SUV which was parked next to his own small, but very well-loved, VW seemed to be a creature of habit just as much as he was. He’d never seen the owner (but he could see the type; well-dressed, mid-forties or fifties, trying to forget the fact that he was beginning to get a pot belly and his once-attractive hair was losing its colour and retreating from his face faster than he could track it) he was always in the same parking space, squashing Kōki until he had to climb in from the other side and bring himself to grief and agony on the gear shift several times.

He hadn’t made a point of letting his annoyance be known, but being tired and rather cranky, and _today_ being the worst day possible for this kind of thing to happen, he decided now was as good a time as ever. So he hopped up onto the bonnet of the SUV, the keys jangling temptingly in his pocket and waited patiently with his coffee, trying to pick out the possible owner.

“Excuse me, would you mind not sitting on my bonnet?”

The voice came from his right, and Kōki was so startled he almost jumped enough to slosh the coffee out of the cup, either onto his lap or the car. “You own this car?” he asked. But… that couldn’t be right. They looked younger than Kōki. Were they even old enough to _drive_?

“Yes.” Their—the teenager’s?—magenta eyes narrowed.

“But you’re not balding,” he asked blankly.

They cocked an eyebrow. “I should hope not,” they said. “I’m only twenty-three.”

Same age. And they were already driving a car of this calibre? Kōki squared his shoulders and hopped off the hood, trying not to let his own VW be cowed. “You’re parking too close to me and have been for the past few months. I need more space to get into my car.”

“I’m parking within the lines,” they insisted. “Perhaps you should park closer to the wall.”

And risk scratching the VW? Unacceptable. He scurried after the red-head when they reached for their door. “There are always places elsewhere, why do you have to bother me?”

They weren’t really paying attention, placing the coffee on the roof of the car and rifling through a bag on the driver’s seat. “I don’t think I’m bothering you,” they said.

“I’m _telling_ you that you are!” And they _still_ weren’t paying attention. Kōki hooked a thumb in his pocket and he could feel the keys, and it was just _so_ tempting to take them out and let them scrape a line in the paintwork. The screech would be horrendous, they would wince before their face twisted in rage.

The only problem was that Kōki could not fight to save his life— _literally—_ and the all-too-visible muscles from their rolled-up sleeves betrayed that they could probably throw in a good punch or two.

He put his hand in his back pocket instead.

“That’s subjective,” Kōki heard. Their eyes were annoyingly wide and innocent-looking for someone who must have a black soul and heart.

“What are you talking about? It’s annoying me, be a decent person and do something about it!”

They got into the car and slammed the door shut, almost hitting Kōki with it had he not jumped out of the way. “I don’t have the time for this,” they said, their eyes fixed and glaring.

“Me neither.” And he didn’t; he was already running late for the meeting and he _needed_ this backer to save his shop. Meanwhile _that_ person didn’t seem to be wanting for anything. The key turned in the ignition and Kōki looked at the roof of the car, where the coffee was still perched. “You—”

“I said I don’t have time,” they interrupted. Kōki shrugged, hiding his smirk with his own coffee cup. He watched as they put the car in reverse and started backing out. Unsurprisingly, the cup fell over, spilling coffee down the windshield and rolling down to the floor. They glared at it in disbelief before hitting their forehead on the steering wheel.

“Oh yeah,” Kōki said innocently. “Your coffee’s still on the roof.”

Smirking slightly themselves, they switched on the windscreen wipers, and Kōki was splattered with droplets of lukewarm coffee. “Was that really necessary?” he asked as he jumped back.

“No. And neither is this, to be perfectly honest.” Kōki frowned at them, before they reached out to slap Kōki’s coffee out of his hand.

He _could_ , at a push, have let that go. If there wasn’t the months of agitation and the fear that he may have skewered his groin one too many times and possibly no longer be able to bear children. If he wasn’t so bothered by the fact that this person was both more attractive and obviously richer than him, whilst still being the same age. If they _hadn’t_ just hit the coffee in a way that it both burned his hand, and splattered against his own car.

His beautiful little VW, which he kept in pristine condition, even going so far as chasing birds away from her, which now had a large splatter of coffee on the window. Kōki’s breath caught in his throat at their confident, infernal smirk, and lost it.

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have allowed it to bother him to such an extent. Coffee could be easily cleaned off, he _himself_ could park somewhere else and revert to passive-aggressive feats to drive them away from his territory, both figuratively and literally, but he was pissed off at attractive people thinking they owned the world with just a smile, or rich people by flaunting their wealth, and _they_ were _both._

It was quite impressive. He managed to wrench the door open and pick up both cups to throw at them as a distraction before clambering in himself and battering at their shoulders and ribs—nothing too violent and nothing that would _hurt_ , just proof that he could stand up for himself—and was really rather offended when they started laughing and almost squirming under him. “ _Do-don’t_ ,” they insisted, catching Kōki’s wrists repeatedly. “I’m really ticklish, _stop_ it.”

Kōki stopped and sat back. “You’re _what_?”

“Ticklish,” they repeated weakly. Kōki’s hands inched to their sides to test it out before they pulled them away, causing Kōki to lose his balance and fall against their body.

Not that he hadn’t been in a precarious position before; he _had_ , in fact, been straddling their lap, but now they were only a few centimetres away from each other, and any more squirming from either of them would probably land Kōki in a whole lot of mess he couldn’t be bothered to get into.

“Hey, the leather is really soft,” he blurted out. Anything to stop the tension between them dead. Anything to avoid the fact that he didn’t even know this person’s name and he was already certain that if he was propositioned nothing would convince him not to go along wholeheartedly.

“I… I suppose it is?” They shifted and Kōki hurriedly scrambled off their lap, which didn’t really help all that much when he realised that he must have torn a button from their shirt during the struggle and the slight gap was showing abs which were much too defined for Kōki’s comfort. “I can get you another coffee,” they said. “That… that was childish. I apologise.”

“No! And… you know what, just forget it. I’ll park somewhere else, or… or maybe find another café. You just… whatever.” He opened the door to the VW, wincing at the cold coffee still steadily dripping off the handle.

“Wait.” They had a commanding enough voice that Kōki mindlessly obeyed. “What’s your name?”

“Furihata Kōki.”

Their eyes sparked. “Is that so?”

“W-well… yes?” It wasn’t as if he had any fame whatsoever, why were they suddenly looking at him as if they knew every secret he had to offer?

They pressed their lips together and nodded. “You should hurry, Furihata-san. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be late for whatever you were heading to.”

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

They just glanced at him, amusement curving the corners of their mouth, and shook their head before flawlessly backing out of the space and driving off. “I hope you get hit by a truck,” Kōki mumbled under his breath. Not… killed. He wasn’t quite that cruel. But he still longed for that SUV to be totalled. Maybe next time they’d drive up in a tiny replacement car, even smaller than his VW. “Hang in there, babe,” he said to her once he’d climbed in, patting the steering wheel affectionately. “You’re better than that SUV. You know they’re just overcompensating.” The rumble of the engine picked up. “Good girl,” he muttered before pulling out himself.

It turned out, by the wrath of the gods (he should never have confronted that person, it tipped the balance too much) that the rumble of the engine was spelling out doom rather than a happy, encouraging gurgle. She’d probably been taken in by the SUV. He was waiting nervously to be called into this _Akashi Seijūrō_ ’s office—having memorised that name over and over to not make the same blunder he did last time in calling a potential backer by the entirely wrong name, and even worse the name of one of his rivals he was to meet later that day. His name was finally called, and he made a high-pitched squeak that had the receptionist gawp at him. “A-Akashi-san is ready to see me?” he continued quickly.

She nodded, pointing over her shoulder at the door and still staring wide-eyed at him. Which was a pain; she was pretty cute and he had been hoping to build up the courage to ask for her number. Whatever. The prospect of being backed was more important, and at least he’d gotten that strange squeak out of his system.

She went in front to open the door and announce him and Kōki hurriedly got his papers out to scan through them one last time. Wonderful opportunity, preserving culture, and… what was that third one?

Everything slid out of his head once he looked up and met the red eyes of his arch-nemesis.

Well, it slid out of his hands too. Thankfully the receptionist had gone and closed the door behind her, but the papers still fell out of his hands and out of the folder and scattered over the floor— _why_ hadn’t he stapled them together?—before feeling a very strong urge to throttle that smirk off their face. It was just _embarrassing_ ; he felt like a pigeon that had just flown full-pelt into a window.

“Furihata-san?” they asked, slightly startled as they bent to pick up a few of the papers which had fallen close to them and… oh no, that was the paper which had the really bad doodle of a boat. He jumped forward to snatch it out of their hands.

“Well you’re obviously not going to back me, so I’ll just—”

“Furihata-san,” they said. Kōki paused. “Do what you came here to do.”

“There’s no point wasting your time, Akashi-san,” he mumbled.

Akashi put their head to one side. “What if I told you that I decided to back you as soon as I found out who you were?”

Kōki stared at them. “Y-you… what?”

“I mean it. It’s not like I’m challenged a lot; people never seem to want to stand up to me. So with you I feel like things could be interesting.”

_Interesting_. What, because he had somehow developed a massive crush on them? A case of ‘let’s keep the crazy guy around and see what else he does’? “This is my business. Not something to amuse you,” Kōki said.

“You can trust me, Furihata-san.”

Well, it wasn’t as if he’d gotten any better offers. So he glared at the papers still littering the floor, glared at Akashi for good measure, before shrugging. “I look forward to working with you,” he muttered.

“And I with you,” they replied, holding out a hand for Kōki to shake.

He didn’t quite understand the gleam in his eye, and wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to.


	85. AkaFuri

_Akashi-sama requests your presence tonight at—_

Kōki didn’t bother to read any more, just screwed up the paper and threw it at Kuroko’s retreating back. Kuroko gave him a look which was an odd mixture of irritation and compassion, which Kōki could only meet for a second before slamming the door to his room—his _prison_ —shut and yet again running to his bed to muffle a scream into his pillow.

“Why don’t you just join him? It’s only a dinner.”

Kōki lowered the pillow and rubbed away the moisture that was building in his eyes. “I’d rather starve, Momoi-san.” His stomach rumbled and cramped, and the pain almost made him regret his decision. Almost. Not quite enough to share a room with his captor for more than the couple of minutes that they had when he first accepted the stupid dare.

The castle he was walled up in was famous for the horror stories that surrounded it, that it was inhabited by a beast worse than a demon with glowing yellow eyes and a cruel smile that could stop a bull in its tracks. Kōki had thought it was all rumours, and boasted that he wasn’t afraid of the looming walls and gardens filled with thorns. At which his friends had grinned and said, “ _Well, if the little pup is so brave, why doesn’t he go in and prove his point?_ ” He’d almost faltered, but had he gone back on his word he would have been laughed at. Kōki _hated_ being laughed at and belittled. His slight stature led to an inability to chop wood, which meant he had to join his mother tending the flowers rather than his father in carpentry. Because of this he was a constant source of mirth within his group of friends.

Kōki had been terrified, almost trembling as he opened the screeching gate and walked through the thorny overgrowth closer to the castle, reached the door and thought it was like a door to hell. He could almost feel ghosts pressing against the wood begging to be allowed out. He’d swallowed, looked back towards the gate where he could see his friends smirking as they watched him.

He was only sixteen. Much too young to die. But, his heart rivalling the flitting of a hummingbird, he’d put his weight on the door to push it open and walked through.

“I can’t allow you to starve.” Kōki jumped, and blushed when he saw that Momoi had joined him on the bed, her small hand placed on his shoulder. “Akashi-sama has very good manners.”

“Locking me in here is good manners?”

“You have the run of the castle and the grounds, Furihata-san.” Kōki shook his head, and she sighed. “I’ll bring you what I can to eat.” Kōki winced at the irritation in her voice. But really, how was it that _he_ was putting them out? Akashi could have let him go, instead of staring at him coldly with sightless eyes and ordering the beast to put him in the guest quarters and not allow him to leave until they’d talked.

Which they hadn’t. Kōki supposed he was hoping that they would talk over dinner, but on principle Kōki would not spend _any_ time with a _kidnapper_. Momoi left and Kōki buried himself in the pillows again, adding the blankets for good measure. At least he was in the height of comfort, the bed bigger and softer than he’d ever laid on before

Momoi could only bring him some soup and bread from the servants’ kitchen, but Kōki accepted it gratefully and ate it quickly, even though the soup was hot enough to scald his throat. For hours after he thought of home, the climbing roses that were starting to reach his window, his brother loudly singing as he hacked at wood and his mother harmonising from the kitchen. At least he was alone; he could let the tears fall uninhibited as he watched the progression of the moon outside the window. Someone knocked at the door at one point but he shouted at them to leave, which they did after a pause.

The next morning there was another note, which Momoi handed to him even though Kōki tried to bat her away. _Akashi-sama requests your presence for breakfast_.

“Is he _actually_ being serious?” Kōki said, balling up the paper again.

“I’ve been forbidden to bring you any food, Furihata-san. Please accept the invitation.”

Kōki pressed his lips together and turned away. It was difficult to say no to Momoi, and was only getting more difficult. She was a rare kind of beauty, with her pink hair piled atop her head and simple dresses. And he was hungry. He hadn’t gone so long with so little food in his life.

“ _Fine_ ,” he muttered. Knowing that his stubbornness, which he prided himself on, was so weak as to disappear at the urging of a pretty girl, knowing that accepting to have a meal with his captor was ridiculous, knowing that a brave man would allow himself to starve rather than give the enemy such satisfaction.

He was just so _hungry_.

“I’ll leave so you can dress yourself, Furihata-san,” she said, placing some clothes at the foot of the bed and bowing before leaving. Kōki stared at the door until his stomach grumbled angrily.

-

The dining room was, like everything, opulent and much too large for the master of the house. Akashi turned when he entered, facing Kōki much too accurately for the sightlessness in his eyes to explain. “I’m glad you could join me, Furihata-san.”

Kōki blinked at him. “There’s no need to be so polite,” he grumbled. “I am your prisoner, after all.”

His eyebrows lowered slightly. Enough to send chills down Kōki’s back. Akashi wasn’t the type of person to project his emotions, unlike Kōki, but whatever he _did_ project was powerful enough to leave Kōki trembling. “I would rather not think of you as my prisoner.”

“Neither would I, but I _am_.” His eyes narrowed and Kōki’s breath caught in his throat.

The first time he’d set his eyes on the master had been just as terrifying, and he’d been in such shock that there _was_ someone who lived here, who had the eyes and demeanour of the worst of demons that he hadn’t been able to say a word except to choke out his name when Akashi had demanded for it. He’d found Kōki in the hall, as he gazed in wonder at the spectacular stained glass window which was situated in front of visitors as they entered the castle. Half depicted the castle in the midst of summer, and the other in the midst of winter, and Kōki could only be transfixed. The trees could have been swaying with the breeze by how the sun fell through the glass, the snow sparkled as if it was made of diamonds. It could _well_ have been made of diamonds.

He’d been so enamoured that he hadn’t noticed when the master came in, coldly asking who was trespassing.

And the rumours had been true. He could well have been a succubus with his beauty and eyes of gold. His hair fell over his forehead like a waterfall.

And his eyes were entirely sightless. Until Kōki managed to identify himself, he was watching several meters to his left.

“No one can enter here. No one can know,” he’d said coldly. Kōki had gaped at him, before he’d shot an order over his shoulder and a burly, monstrously tall man with odd-coloured hair (Kōki thought it was purple, but he hadn’t looked too closely) had caught him up in his arms the size of an oak tree, and muffled his shouts with a hand. He’d been placed in the guest quarters and locked in, whoever passed ignoring the banging on the door until his hand was aching and red, and his screams until his voice was hoarse. When he had been sure no one would come, he’d hidden himself in the copious blankets and pillows of the bed, the fabric under his head becoming wet with tears. All because of his pride. All because of his need to prove himself as worthy, when he _knew_ that worth couldn’t be given by people around him.

Akashi motioned to a chair and Kōki obediently sat. Not for any reason but the food, which materialised in front of him as he sat.

“H-how…?”

“Enchantment,” Akashi answered. He lifted a glass. “To your good health, Furihata-san.”

Kōki almost laughed. _Good health_. As if he wasn’t being held here against his will. As if this was a meeting between friends. What a hypocrite. “Why are you keeping me here?” he asked.

Akashi picked at a piece of bread without eating. “No one can know.”

“Know _what_? I’m here. I have a right to know.”

“I would just like to spend some time with you, Furihata-san.”

Kōki leant back against his chair with a loud sigh. “Is there a way that I can contact my family, at least?”

“Momoi-san has already sent a message.”

“A-and they didn’t try to bring me back?”

“She emphasised your willingness to stay.”

The _liar_. Willingness? As if his throat wasn’t still hurting from how much he’d screamed. As if he hadn’t futilely struggled against the monster’s arms as he’d bundled him into his room. His hand was tight around his glass until his knuckles were white. It was just water in it, and he threw it over Akashi before it shattered in his hand, the glass falling over the table and slicing his palm.

He’d half-missed Akashi, even though they were sitting so close, so only his shoulder was drenched. He jumped, before frowning at the sound of shattering glass. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no,” he lied. “How could you _dare_ to lie like that?”

“You are hurt,” Akashi insisted, catching Kōki’s hand with unnerving precision before calling for someone over his shoulder. The man who came was almost as tall as the monster who had abducted him with eyes that matched his emerald hair. He cleaned Kōki’s cuts and bandaged them without talking before disappearing through the wall. “You may go to your room,” Akashi said. “Momoi will bring your food.”

Kōki looked at him once before darting to where the man had walked through the wall to press his hands against it. It was no different to the rest of the walls.

“I said to your room,” Akashi insisted, his voice cold.

Kōki trembled, and ran.

-

“What’s his story?”

Kōki’s hand had begun to heal into a red mark that would lead to a scar. The days were becoming longer, the sunlight which filtered through the window warming the room until he had to open it wide for a soft breeze to fill the room, which he hadn’t left since that morning with Akashi.

Momoi placed another blanket onto the bed as a finishing touch. “Whose story?”

“Akashi’s. Why is he here?”

She frowned at him. “We don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“All I remember is that he was proud. Proud enough that he believed he could do no wrong, and he was punished for that. He lost his sight and ability to leave this castle.”

“He can’t leave?”

“It weakens him considerably when he does.”

Kōki chewed on his lip as he filed it away in his mind. All he needed was to dodge the guards at the door and run. He would finally be home, where he could listen to his brother’s singing and help in the kitchen and the garden. “And… enchantment?”

Momoi nodded and started walking to the door. “All part of the punishment for his pride. He can no longer do anything by himself.”

She left a small meal on the side, just enough to tide him over but not fully satisfy him like every other time. He thought longingly of the collection of food which was in the dining hall, summoned by a mere wish. Surely it wouldn’t hurt just to sneak down for a couple of hours? Akashi had never said that he had to _remain_ in his room, it was his own pride that kept him in.

He pinched his cheeks before slapping them. “Just walk around a bit,” he said quietly to himself. “If you encounter Akashi, come back.” Simple. He was beginning to wonder why he’d even forced himself to remain here.

He saw no one as he walked around, only statues which seemed to follow him with their eyes and paintings which taunted him with their occupants. Endless fields, ships on oceans and families together.

He paused at one, depicting a family. The son was familiar, only younger. The father was watching Kōki strictly, the mother sadly with her auburn hair heavy and long down her back. The son was standing before them, with a mixture of hope and desolation in his two scarlet eyes.

Kōki couldn’t stop staring at the hypnotising sight. The golden eyes that Akashi had now were chilling, but scarlet suited him, somehow bringing more colour to his cheeks. He didn’t know how long he stared, until his eyes blurred and confusion brought his mind to a halt. It was _obviously_ Akashi in the portrait, but what could have changed his eyes from red to gold? Was it part of the enchantment over the castle?

He felt chills as he made his way back to his room, the statues still stalking him with their stone eyes.

-

The notes hadn’t let up in all the time he’d been in captivity, but the next evening he didn’t ball it up to throw back to Kuroko as he did usually and accepted the invitation.

“I’m glad you decided to join me, Furihata-san,” Akashi said as soon as he entered the room. Kōki thought of the painting and the vivacity in the red eyes compared to the lifeless gold. The same seat as before was motioned to him, and he sat still watching Akashi.

He still wouldn’t forgive him for his entrapment. That he knew, but his room was comfortable and he did have the run of the castle and the grounds. And probably… the only way to be able to leave was if he gained Akashi’s friendship and trust.

Akashi picked at his food, having eaten less than half of his plate as Kōki finished. “You shouldn’t pick at your food like that, Akashi-san.”

He faced him quizzically but said nothing.

“Do you eat enough?”

“My diet is perfectly balanced,” he said.

Kōki sighed quietly at his tone.

“Do I aggravate you?”

Kōki bit his lip before answering. He could lie, say that he understood why Akashi was that way. Or he could tell the truth. “Yes,” he answered. Akashi was emotionless. “I don’t understand why you act the way you do. And it does aggravate me, because I’ve never met someone like you before.”

He held his breath, until Akashi smiled. “Forgive me,” he said. “I have been alone for a long time.”

“What about your servants?”

He faced the open window for a moment and Kōki half-expected him to say that the servants were not on his level. “Do you enjoy reading, Furihata-san?”

“Y-yes?”

He pushed his plate back and the food disappeared without a trace. “Follow me.”

It was a room that he was surprised he hadn’t found himself. Larger than the dining room, and almost to the ceiling the walls were filled with books. Wide windows looked over fields and a surging river and the sun was almost blinding. Kōki stepped through the room as quietly as he could. “So you enjoyed reading before…?” he trailed off and Akashi nodded, touching just below his left eye. “I could read to you, you know.”

“I would enjoy that.”

-

Time went quicker now that he had something to fill the day with. He read everything out loud to Akashi, who went between listening in a distant way, like an adult, or facing Kōki avidly, as if he was a child. He would tell Kōki stories also, reciting old ballads of kings and knights and battles which resulted in thousands dead. When Kōki asked him why he knew so many he gave the most beaming smile Kōki had ever seen from him and said that his mother had always told him those stories.

Kōki never saw his parents, even when he spent every day out of his room, and out of curiosity he asked where they were.

“They died many years ago,” he answered.

Kōki knew he wasn’t entirely human; he’d known that since the first moment he’d set his eyes on Akashi, but it still confused him. Whenever Kōki asked about his past, he would always emphasise that it was ‘ _many years ago_ ’. In his mind, his captor’s past retreated to a vanishing point at the beginning of time. Akashi was eons old even if he resembled nothing more than an eighteen year old.

“Many years ago…” he repeated absentmindedly, his index finger stroking down the spine of a book. Akashi turned towards him. “Will you tell me how many or is that classified?”

Akashi smiled at him, and something in his chest throbbed. “About a hundred years ago they were living here with me. I was fifteen when they died.”

Kōki started to ask how it was possible.

“I can’t tell you how all this happened. Not just yet.”

“It was something to do with your pride,” Kōki blurted out. Akashi froze.

“Y-yes,” he stammered. “Have you chosen a book yet?”

Kōki took one at random and settled on the floor to begin reading it aloud.

-

Kōki counted the time by books, and when they reached twenty, and the days were beginning to draw in he asked when he could leave.

It was too soon to ask a question like that. Akashi’s face twisted into pain, the book he held in his hands was crushed. “ _Never_ ,” he said, in a way that sounded like a vow.

Kōki’s breath caught in his throat. The crackle of the fire was deafening in the silence of the room’s occupants. Red reflected off Akashi’s eyes and skin and when he lowered his head the shadows made him look gaunt. “I’m not yours to keep,” Kōki said. His voice was weaker than Akashi’s, but that was fine, that was normal. Akashi was more powerful than him in every way.

Didn’t mean that he had to win though.

The gold bored into him, striking his heart incessantly. “What if I was yours to keep? Would that make you stay?”

Kōki didn’t know why those words almost brought him to tears. “You’re not mine.”

“How would you know, Kōki?”

The never-before touched part in his chest throbbed again. “I couldn’t own you.”

Akashi caught his shoulders, and Kōki knew _why_ it was throbbing, why it was so painful and a barren wasteland in his chest, but he couldn’t understand how he could feel that way for someone so proud and flawed. “I’m yours.” Kōki shook his head at Akashi’s words.

Akashi kissed him then, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t feel or think anything other than Akashi and how the throbbing encompassed him and ached and ached and ached.

-

Akashi was cold.

-

He decided later that evening that it was as far as he could go. The doors and gates were never locked, the guards didn’t remain out all night, and if he waited any longer he would lose any sensation of the outside to drown himself in Akashi.

He wrapped a cloak from the wardrobe around himself and slowly made his way through the darkened castle. The hallways stretched before him, doubling in length every time he blinked, but he was finally at the door, opening it a crack so he could just slip out.

He wasn’t imagining the thorns grabbing at him but pushed them away as they scratched at his arms. The grass grabbed at his feet and cloak but he tore himself away every time. The gate opened just enough that he could squeeze his way through, and he felt like he’d woken from a dream. His breath condensed and coiled before him, the gravel beneath him felt more real than the grass and thorns. He gave one last look at the looming castle dark behind him.

Walking along the river was the quickest way home (he thought, it felt like so long ago) and he paused at the river bank when the moon revealed itself from behind the veil of a cloud, and as he remained, the ground crumbled beneath him.

He should have remembered; it was always weaker along the bank from the crashing of the water against it. He scrabbled back, but his foot caught the edge of the cloak. The reeds he grasped broke in his hands. Cold water numbed him as he thrashed, and caught him up to throw him the way he’d came. Kōki kicked at the water as it whipped him about like each wave wanted just a piece of him; a leg, a single hip, his chest, fingers and shoulders and neck. Dragging him down by his cloak, which he hurriedly ripped off. It wasn’t enough, the next wave would claim his head with a laugh. He was imagining the golden eyes above him, the hands which closed over his arms. No matter how real his name felt when Akashi spoke it he wasn’t…

“Akashi?” he said quietly, shivering violently before Akashi undid his clothes and almost tore them off.

“You’re too cold,” he said, though he was pausing for breath between each word. He paled as Kōki forced the haze from his mind, before falling back. His breathing was short, sharp as a dagger, his chest trying to move to breathe more.

Momoi had said that he was weakened when he left the grounds. He convulsed once and Kōki forced himself onto his feet, taking Akashi’s arm and putting it over his shoulders to drag him forwards. The grounds were only a hundred meters away, and though Akashi got quieter and quieter and paler and paler still, he managed to drop him over the threshold, call for the servants and fall in a heap beside Akashi’s still form.

-

He awoke in an unfamiliar room.

It startled him for a moment, and by reflex he brought the covers higher around him, only noticing when there was a small resistance to the movement that Akashi was sleeping beside him, still breathing a little too quickly. He stirred, but didn’t wake when Kōki touched his hair.

“Let him rest, Furihata-san,” he heard Momoi say. He almost hadn’t noticed that she was there, and started to say an apology and give her a wry smile before he froze in horror.

She was warped, one eye almost melting down to her cheek, a part of her neck either sank into her shoulder or was missing, her fingers were misshapen and twisted. As he watched she flickered between her normal appearance and this… _monster_ that was before him. Approaching on legs which bent in odd angles, she reached out, a distorted frown on her face when Kōki shot back, trembling so much he was shaking the entire bed and unable to call out as fear was cold fingers down his back.

“I’ll leave you both to rest,” she said. As soon as she was out, he dove forward, burrowing as close to Akashi as he could as he tried to slow his breathing from hyperventilation to something more normal.

-

Akashi woke him some time later by kissing his forehead. Kōki, remembering what had happened before, watched him fearfully in case he distorted, breathing several sighs of relief when he looked the same as ever. Although it seemed ridiculous in the light of day; _surely_ she hadn’t been so warped and twisted. “How are you?” he said in an undertone, stroking his hair back.

“Fine,” Kōki answered, almost breathless. “You?”

He brushed his nose against Kōki’s. “Fine.”

“I think Momoi-san’s a monster,” he said.

Akashi frowned. “Monster? Momoi?” A second later, realisation dawned. “You saw her when I was unconscious, didn’t you?” He sat up and Kōki followed him. “I always try to make sure that you don’t see them when I’m unconscious, but I suppose taking care of us overrode that command.” Facing Kōki, his shoulders hunched. “How much have you gathered from your time here?”

“From my imprisonment, you mean?” Kōki said. Akashi sighed and made a ‘ _carry on_ ’ gesture with his hand. “Not much. Just that you’re not human.”

Akashi hid a smile. “I’m half human. My father was a magician. They’re not as common these days as a hundred years ago.” Kōki kept quiet, didn’t inform him that in fact it was closer to five hundred years ago that magicians were more common. He supposed anyone could lose track of time when it spanned for so long. “My parents died young—I don’t recall what of—and I continued, at fifteen, to tend to the house myself.

“My pride was always an issue, and it became more so when I was master. One by one, the help left, tired of my rule. My…” he paused. “Tyranny, I suppose. The biggest problem was that I’d always had a vivid imagination, and with my powers, I could bring certain things into being, at a small cost to myself. When loneliness overtook me, I recreated the servants from my memories and it cost me my sight, my freedom, my ability to age, and certain memories of my parents.”

“So… they don’t exist?”

“They do, to a point. As figments of my imagination.”

Kōki hugged his legs to his chest, hiding his face against his knees. The servants weren’t aware of this, or at least, Momoi wasn’t. They were unaware of their state of being, the inescapable link to their master. So… what could prove that _he_ wasn’t merely a figment of Akashi’s imagination? He looked at Akashi’s sightless eyes and touched his cheek gently. Akashi leaned into his hand and Kōki couldn’t breathe. “How am I sure, then?”

“Sure?” Akashi asked, his lips against Kōki’s palm.

“That I’m not just a figment of your imagination?”

He smiled. “Because you defy me. Constantly. And you can leave.”

Kōki wasn’t sure if it was the lighting, but his eyes seemed to darken in colour. “Which you can do. You don’t have to sneak out any more, Kōki. If you want to leave, leave. And… I-I’m sorry. For everything.”

He still tightened his hand around Kōki’s, as if he wasn’t sure of his decision.

It was what Kōki had been waiting for for months, but he still pushed his way into Akashi’s arms to press a light kiss to his mouth, watched as his eyes closed blissfully. “I will leave,” he said honestly. Akashi nodded and started to back away, furrowing his brow when Kōki stopped him. “But there’s no rush.”

He was strangely certain when he kissed Akashi again, letting everything—his sentiments, his wishes, his _love_ for him—be known. “I don’t want to be apart from you,” he said against Kōki’s lips, and it was too dangerous because he was starting to feel the same way, unable to picture a life without him, as much as he hated this castle. “Kōki…” he said. Kōki tightened his arms around him. “ _Kōki_ ,” he said more insistently.

His eyes were red when Kōki responded, and he was watching him with a wonder that would only be seen on a child when looking at a miracle of nature. As Kōki took it in, how the red in his eyes gave him more colour, how bright and young he seemed, he touched Kōki’s face with a trembling hand, kissed his neck before pulling back to look at him again as if he couldn’t bear to not see him.

“Y-you can see?”

“I can reverse it,” he said, keeping his eyes open as he kissed Kōki again. “I could always reverse it but I was scared of being alone. I don’t… don’t have to be now. Right?”

“Of course not,” Kōki said, watching as all fear left him. “S-so, the servants?”

He tapped his head. “Back where they belong,” he said. “They’re long gone as it is. The real servants. I should have accepted that from the beginning.”

Kōki lay back, pulling Akashi with him by his shoulders. “Then come home with me?”

He accepted the lingering kiss, his head spinning from the sweetness and his own urgency. “I will,” he said, and it sounded like a vow.

Akashi pressed against Kōki, and he was as warm as the sunlight through the window.


	86. AkaFuri

His routine was always the same.

Seijūrō knew, because he’d known Kōki for years. Grown up with him, though Kōki never had any recollection of it. He thrived off routine and each day being the same. And it always was, though to him every day was something different.

If Seijūrō could have changed what he was he would have. But in all the research he’d done in the days he’d managed to tear himself away from Kōki he had found nothing. Humans and vampires were born to remain as they were. And a vampire falling for a human would lead only to heartbreak.

He could still feel the vestiges of his broken heart from yesterday, when Kōki had held him and promised that he wouldn’t be  _able_ to forget, that Seijūrō was too vibrant and irreplaceable. Seijūrō had stayed beside him and felt like for once Kōki was telling the truth. He was the ground and the earth and held the pieces of Seijūrō’s mind together. And even after all this time he was as kind as he’d always been, when upon their first meeting he’d approached, noticing that Seijūrō was crying and immediately sat beside him.

Seijūrō had told him that there was no worth in befriending him, that before they could be close he would have absorbed his memories, but Kōki had ended the day by kissing his cheek and telling him he would never forget. It had been the first lie he’d told Seijūrō. The last had been exactly the same lie, but yet again at midnight Kōki’s memories of the day stole through the night to seep into his blood, and Seijūrō closed his eyes as he saw the small hint of déjà vu at the first sight Kōki had of him, which then dissipated. The disbelief as Seijūrō explained to him, the fear and anger when he was told secrets about himself that, to  _his_ recollection, he’d told nobody. How his mind had battled, but something indescribable inside him was urging him to accept Seijūrō.

He didn’t always listen to that voice. Sometimes, Kōki shouted and struck him. Sometimes he ran. Other times, he would coldly tell him to leave and not make up any more stories. Seijūrō would always obey. He used to not, instead hold onto him and ignore his struggling, but Kōki hating him always hurt the most.

But still, that morning was different. Seijūrō stepped into Kōki’s path and Kōki’s eyes widened impossibly.

“Y-you…” Seijūrō froze as Kōki spoke and approached. “I dreamt about you last night,” he said. His brows lowered. “Who are you?”

Seijūrō answered, unable to breathe when Kōki reached out to touch his hand and lace their fingers together slowly.

“Why do I know you?”

He asked it again and again that day, and Seijūrō only smiled at his question. It was only that evening, when Kōki was whispering it against his skin and into the strands of his hair that he answered.

“You’ll forget me. You always do.”

Kōki took his hand to place it on his chest, so Seijūrō could feel how quickly his heart was flitting. “Something inside me knew, Seijūrō. Apparently you can’t take memories that are ingrained into my heart.”

Seijūrō smiled as Kōki laughed and it shed sunlight which obscured the moon and stars. “So how long exactly have we known each other?”

“Twenty years,” Seijūrō answered.

“Twenty…” Kōki echoed.

He left just before midnight, after bestowing kiss after kiss, and dragging himself until he was round the corner in the dark. Closing his eyes, he let Kōki’s memories take over his body and mind, relived every touch and kiss.

The morning after, he waited with his heart torn into even more pieces.

“D-do I know you?”


	87. MidoTaka (Fantasy AU)

Shintaro couldn’t help but think that he was old beyond his years when he talked to Kuroko. He supposed it was what they shared, having both lost someone so important to them. He’d learnt of what they shared a few weeks after Takao’s death when Kuroko had appeared in the mouth of his cave, his face showing a rare amount of emotion. Shintaro, on reflex, had invited him in.

“ _I’ve lost someone too before. A human I loved._ ”

He hadn’t come in, but had related everything from the entrance as Shintaro stood in front of him, unable to find any way to comfort him. Although he’d never particularly liked Kuroko, this was something they shared, and he didn’t dislike him enough to send him on his way.

It didn’t give him much hope. In more than a millennia since his loved one’s death, Kuroko said that it didn’t hurt any less.

 

“ _So you’re here to tell me that there’s no hope_.”

“ _I’m still alive_.”

“ _So what?_ ”

Kuroko had closed his eyes, taken in a shuddering breath, and left. Shintaro hadn’t seen him for a long time, until he’d tracked him down upon discovering that Akashi had decided to pursue a relationship with the human to ask him to talk Akashi out of it.

It brought everything back, Akashi so softened with his new love that sometimes Shintaro didn’t recognise him, sending him back to two hundred years before when he’d first met Takao.

He’d stowed away in his cave with stolen items, not knowing that it was already inhabited by a dragon. Shintaro had been absorbed in a book and almost walked straight into him. They’d been shocked to see someone else, and though Takao had recognised immediately what he was, he’d immediately put his palm over Shintaro’s mouth. “ _Please be quiet_.” He was begging, and Shintaro, rather curious even though he was so annoyed, had obeyed. Voices had rushed past the cave.

“ _Are you a thief?_ ” he’d hissed as soon as the people had passed a reasonable distance away.

“ _Are you a dragon?_ ” He’d seemed particularly excited, looking up at Shintaro with bright eyes. Shintaro could almost imagine him as a puppy looking up at a beloved master.

“ _I… I… what is it to you?_ ”

Takao had put the strap of his bag over his shoulder and put his head to one side, his eyes narrowing even though he was smiling so lightly— _strange, that he could remember it all as if it had passed a moment ago—_ before crossing his arms behind his head. “ _Everyone believes dragons have been extinct for years._ ”

“ _We’re not_.”

“ _We? There’s more?_ ”

Shintaro had answered that there was, and, when Takao had asked, given his name.

“ _I’m Takao Kazunari,_ ” he’d said. With a cocky smile and a wink, he’d ducked out of the cave, leaving Shintaro to feel as if there had just been a whirlwind in his home, disrupting everything before leaving, everything remaining in chaos.

That things had gone downhill from then on was a bit of an understatement.

Takao was  _loud_ , for one. Overly friendly in calling him ‘ _Shin-chan_ ’. Incredibly curious in all the worst ways; when Shintaro threw a hardback book in his direction and told him all the information he wanted on dragons was within the covers, he’d pulled a face and thrown it back.

“ _Why read it when you can just tell me?_ ”

Pushy. Obstinate. He’d pushed his way into Shintaro’s life until it was normal for him to spend entire days in the cave, lounging next to the fire as if he’d made it himself. It was infuriating, the way he would smile at Shintaro as if he was the only one that mattered to him, the way his eyes would spark every time he said something that embarrassed Shintaro. He sparkled with self-confidence and happiness, even though his situation, being a thief, couldn’t be good.

Shintaro had asked, once, what his purpose was. Why he stole, why he was  _here_  of all places.

“ _Shin-chan, I only steal what I absolutely need to survive._ ” He had held his hand out to the warmth of the flames and tightened the cloak he’d taken around his shoulders. “ _It’s society’s fault, isn’t it? I have no way of surviving by honest means, though I pay for all I can. I can only be grateful that no one depends on me._ ”

Something within Shintaro had broken then. It wasn’t often that Takao was entirely serious.

“ _What makes you think that I don’t depend on you?_ ”

It wasn’t what Takao had meant, Shintaro knew that, but it was as good a time to confess as any. Their time was limited anyway. Humans lived for an instant, forgot in an instant. Takao was already in his late twenties, physically older than Shintaro, and if he was lucky, would live three, four decades more. Shintaro hadn’t anticipated the truth, that he had less than a year left to live. Even less that it was his own fault that Takao had died in the flames.

Fire was necessary to Shintaro’s survival; to all dragons’ survival, but he couldn’t help but hate it now.

Everyone had visited him in the weeks after Takao’s execution. Murasakibara, the gigantesque purple dragon, had deposited various sweets on his desk. Aomine, the blue dragon, had sat with him for several hours as Momoi, the pink dragon, had offered various bouquets of flowers to place on an unmarked cross in the ground which Kise, the golden dragon, had brought.

“ _It’s important to have somewhere you can remember him and feel close to him, Midorimacchi,_ ” he’d said, clinging onto Shintaro’s arm with impressive strength.

Akashi and Kuroko had stayed in the shadows, though Shintaro could feel disapproving looks in his direction. Though Akashi had been attentive and kind, he still said, “ _Humans don’t live long enough to be worth it_ ,” as he left. He’d come a handful of times over the next hundred years as Shintaro had buried himself in his studies, torturing himself by trying to find a way that he could have saved Takao.

It was the least he could do to punish himself. Takao had been burnt to death because of his relationship with Shintaro anyway. It had been  _Shintaro_  who had confessed first, even if it had been Takao who’d stepped into his arms, saying his name in a low voice. Shintaro had looked down at the boy against his chest, before shakily touching his hair. It was as soft as it looked, and Takao had given a small sigh when Shintaro let the strands run through his fingers like water.

“ _You’re so warm_.”

He hadn’t said it out loud, but he’d thought it. Takao was warm too.

Kuroko’s story of the man he’d loved more than a millennia ago stayed in his mind for years after, the man named Mayuzumi Chihiro who had grown older and forgotten everything they had ever shared, and how that had hurt him until he’d met one of the dragons from outside the prefecture, Kagami Taiga. Would Takao have done the same? His promises that Shintaro would be the only one for him could have been as fallible as humans were, no matter how compelling they’d felt whispered against his skin and how often he’d insisted that Shintaro would be the one to forget him. “ _It’s simple; twenty, thirty years is a long time for a human. I’ll give you everything I have, Shintaro, but you’ll still have millennia after. I’m just a moment in your life._ ”

Shintaro dropped the book he was holding and walked into the flames, bringing them closer. He wished he could burn, feel what Takao had gone through alone, join him endlessly. Wasn’t he supposed to have forgotten him?

“ _Would you change what you had with Takao?_ ”

He couldn’t lie to Akashi. It was impossible; the red dragon was their leader and knew them all enough to know when they lied.

“ _I would_.”

The flames reached over his head.


	88. MayuAka

Chihiro had only a text to warn him of Akashi’s arrival, like every other time on every other training camp. The knock grated on him, and for a few seconds he imagined that he would ignore it. Akashi would be angry, but he would be thrown off balance. He could just imagine the betrayed looks Akashi would give him the next morning and it would feel like a choir of angels.

The next knock was more demanding and Chihiro forced himself to his feet.

“You knew I was coming, Chihiro,” Akashi said when he opened the door. Rolling his eyes, Chihiro stepped aside to let him in.

“What makes you think that I want you here?”

He supposed that it wasn’t particularly convincing when he tightened his arms around Akashi’s waist and leant in to kiss him as if he was oxygen. Akashi carved his fingers roughly through his hair, smiling against his mouth when Chihiro pulled him towards the bed.

“You don’t want me here?”

“Not in the slightest.” He had to admit to himself that it was a lie, but that was fine. He was a teenage boy, Akashi was surprisingly willing and taking him apart was the biggest confidence boost he never knew he wanted. “But anyway,” he said, pulling away as Akashi tugged his top off. “Why didn’t we just stay in the same room in the first place?”

“I didn’t want people talking.” His eyes were dark as he knelt beside Chihiro. Just that was enough to drag all the breath out of his body.

“Everyone else paired up.”

“Are you jealous?” Chihiro jumped when Akashi bit his neck, wondered absentmindedly how he would explain the bruise that would surely form there and whether he could drag Akashi into the explanation to embarrass him in a way that was believable. “Quickly, Chihiro.” He worked swiftly in removing the rest of their clothes, Chihiro more dazed than he should be in such a short time.

“I-I’m not jealous. I just think this is a bit more complicated than it has to be.”

“I’ve already prepared myself,” he said, ignoring Chihiro’s words. “To save time.”

He really was being used, but he still obeyed Akashi when he was pushed back against the bed. “So what, we’re completely skipping the foreplay? You know that’s not going to work.”

Akashi was straddling his waist, looking down at him with his golden eye glowing, as if Chihiro was his masterpiece, and all his. It sent chills up his spine, which was mingling disconcertedly with pleasure when he leant down to kiss him, trembling when Chihiro bit his lip. “Won’t work? You’re already getting hard, Chihiro.” Which was true, unfortunately for Chihiro’s pride.

Curling his lip, Chihiro took hold of his hips to press him closer and it was too intoxicating, numbing his mind to anything but the radiance of his eyes and fire in his touch.

Maybe he was a little too far gone. Maybe he didn’t hold so much hatred for Akashi as he’d told himself he did. Maybe he was just losing his mind—Akashi was pulling it apart little by little. He switched them over so he was hovering above Akashi’s body, traced a hand over his muscles until Akashi was shaking at his touch. Akashi reached for him, his legs around Chihiro’s waist tight enough that he couldn’t move even if he could bring himself to want to, hands tangled so tight in his hair that it hurt.

“You’re mine, Chihiro,” Akashi vowed in a low voice.

It was probably true. He caved in so easily to the emperor’s whims it was obvious his body was no longer his own. Biting Akashi’s jaw for good measure, revelling in the way his eyes fluttered shut and his back arched, he asked, “And you? Who do you belong to?”

He would protest, Chihiro knew that, and it came in the form of an angry hiss and glower—“I belong to myself Chihiro, I would never debauch myself so much as to…”—he trailed off when Chihiro squeezed the base of his erection. Just enough to hurt a little. He reacted as Chihiro knew he would, a gasp tearing from his throat, nails digging painfully into Chihiro’s back.

“You belong to me just as much as I belong to you, Seijūrō.” He reached down to slip a couple of fingers into Akashi, smirking against his shoulder at how loose he was; he really must have been impatient. Akashi let out a moan, almost keening, and Chihiro’s hands were shaking as he lined up, almost ignoring Akashi as he pushed back against his chest.

“Protection, Chihiro.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said impatiently, starting to push his way in, almost losing his mind at the warmth before Akashi slapped him.

Hard.

Jolting back, he rubbed his cheek with a huff as Akashi sat up and tucked his legs under himself defensively. “ _Protection_.” His voice was cold and hard as the gems his glaring eyes resembled.

_That_  was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Akashi’s muscles were tight, his jaw clenched as he watched Chihiro, who was feeling cold with regret. Strange, he didn’t  _think_  he cared that much about Akashi’s feelings. “I’m sorry,” he said, expecting Akashi to leave. “I lost control,” he offered as an explanation.

He narrowed his eyes minutely.

“I know that’s not enough—”

“Leave it. Do you have protection?”

Chihiro shook his head. “I forgot it. Don’t you have any? You top just as often.”

Akashi looked at him in disbelief. “My maid packed my bags.”

Typical. He really should have thought more before getting into a relationship with such a spoilt brat. “So what’s the plan?”

Akashi stared, in that unnerving, intense way. “I’ve lost the inclination, I’m afraid. I’ll take my leave now.”

“I said I was sorry!” Akashi raised an eyebrow as he flattened his hair. “I know it’s not enough, but…” He was going to have to _beg_. Right now, he wanted Akashi beside him. Whether sexually or not. His heart sank as he caught Akashi’s arm. “Stay. We don’t have to  _do_  anything. Our relationship is more than just sex. Right?” He waited almost fearfully as Akashi silently observed him and the door in turn. Maybe he was just being optimistic. Akashi didn’t care for him; he was too cold to love anyone as it was. Too obsessed with possessing and achieving victory in everything. Even their relationship, which to him was nothing more than a game.

“Fine.”

Chihiro blinked. “What?”

“Fine. I’ll stay.” His ears turned slightly pink. “As long as you don’t violate me in my sleep.”

“No!” Akashi cocked an eyebrow before settling under the covers. Chihiro couldn’t look away. It was rare, these moments when he considered that just possibly, in the worst and most damning and ensnaring way possible, he could be falling for Akashi like he was struggling uphill in a storm that kept blowing him back to the start. “I… didn’t scare you, right?”

“You merely startled me, Chihiro. I was perfectly in control of my emotions.” He sounded bored, and at least not like he was lying. Chihiro watched him breathe a few more times and the contrast between the rough blue material of the covers and his unblemished, silk soft skin. Akashi opened his eyes when Chihiro touched his cheek with the backs of his fingers and squirmed when his ministrations reached his neck. “ _Stop_. You know I’m ticklish,” he grumbled in a disgruntled voice. Chihiro was aware of it, it being one of his most endearing faults. “Go into the bathroom and finish yourself off. Let me sleep.”

Chihiro was much too disinclined to move. Akashi glanced at him quizzically as he pressed a kiss to the side of his head and joined his warmth under the covers. “I’m fine like this.”

Akashi’s quizzical expression didn’t let up, and Chihiro was sure he didn’t sleep throughout the night.


	89. FuriAka

Furihata Kōki was not meant to be a dangerous man.

It was something he just _knew_ , just like he knew that Seijūrō always needed jokes to be explained to him and he had an awful habit of incessant sleep-talking. Seijūrō was the dangerous one in every aspect, the small spark of gold in his eye whenever someone opposed him, the gently seductive way he had of kissing Kōki’s neck, pulling his collar to one side to lavish attention on his shoulders and collarbones, the light blush that would colour his cheeks and the tips of his ears whenever Kōki did the same to him.

Kōki trailed a finger over the supple leather of the collar and dredged up every last ounce of courage he had.

It had been Seijūrō’s idea, during one of his mumbled sleep-talks that Kōki listened to avidly whenever he could, which meant hopefully it would be a surprise. And a good surprise at that. Especially after the week he’d had. Kōki hadn’t asked what was going on, but it was difficult not to notice when Seijūrō would be in the office for hours on end rubbing his forehead and jabbing much too angrily at the keys of his computer. He’d planned it out perfectly; convinced Seijūrō to leave his phone at his workplace, Kōki had locked the office door and put the key in a flowerpot outside.

The key rattled in the door and Kōki hurriedly checked his reflection. Shirt on or off? …off. Sure, he looked pretty ridiculous anyway with the collar, but with the shirt it just made things worse, as if he was half-heartedly trying to hide it. If he’d thought beyond actually having to buy it and _put_ the collar _on_ (both incidences were both highly embarrassing and surprisingly complicated) he would have put a turtleneck on—possibly one of Seijūrō’s—and had some sort of ‘big reveal’. Maybe he could have gone all out with rose petals and champagne. Or found some way to tie himself to the bed posts. Perhaps organise some sort of treasure hunt with him as the prize?

“Kōki, did you lock the office door?”

A little irritated that Seijūrō hadn’t sensed the atmosphere and come bounding up the stairs immediately, he threw his shirt with more force than necessary onto the chair in the corner of the room. “No working this evening, Seijūrō. You promised!”

“I know, but can I at least put my briefcase in there?”

What was he supposed to do; run downstairs, tell Seijūrō to cover his eyes, retrieve the key to unlock the door, put the briefcase in the room, hide the key again, then come back upstairs? All without letting Seijūrō take a peek at him? As if he would listen.

Kōki knelt on the bed and shifted until he was comfortable. “Just put it next to the door,” he called down. “Throw it out the window for all I care,” he added in a mutter. Why wouldn’t he just hurry up and _come_ already?

“What are you doing?” Aha, the voice was closer. Probably near the bottom of the stairs.

“Just come upstairs,” Kōki answered, trying to inject something a bit sexier into his tone. Which didn’t work very well when he couldn’t whisper it into Seijūrō’s ear.

“Are you feeling alright?” He sounded alarmed, and Kōki slapped his forehead. At least he was getting closer.

The door started to open, and Kōki quickly put his hand against his inner thigh, already shivering at the anticipation when Seijūrō peeked around the door.

His briefcase dropped to the floor at the sight of him, and Kōki almost went off on his rant about bringing work into the bedroom (it was the worst turn-off _ever_ —bringing sex into the workplace was wonderful but work into sex was detestable. He wanted Seijūrō entirely focussed on him, not composing an argument in his mind on the values of one sector above another). But… he wasn’t entirely sure it would reach Seijūrō right now.

“What’s wrong, Sei?” he asked innocently, brushing his hand up his thigh once more as Seijūrō stared at his hand, at his body (after years and years of working at it his abs were finally becoming visible; he just didn’t have the luck that Seijūrō did), at the collar and his face as if he couldn’t quite decide what to focus on. Maybe it had been a good idea not to get the catsuit also. He didn’t want to give his lover an aneurysm. Sliding off the bed, he sidled up to Seijūrō (his eyes fixed on his hips at the sway) taking hold of his tie and sliding it off whilst batting the detestable briefcase away with his foot like he was shooing away an unwanted cat, and closing the door. “What’s wrong?” he repeated. A little bit of amusement seeped into his voice— _nothing_ was better than seeing his usually stoic partner so flustered as he was in the bedroom.

“ _Nothing_ ,” he breathed, his voice hitching when Kōki undid his shirt. He was aching to step forwards and kiss him, to feel Seijūrō’s warmth against him and hands tangling his hair. Maybe he’d pull him forward by one of the metal loops on the collar, holding him tightly so he couldn’t pull back even if he wanted to, press him forcefully against the wall until he couldn’t breathe and could only clutch at him and gasp out his name, or encourage Kōki to kneel before him to take his length into his mouth. It was what he did _best_ , after all.

He didn’t know wearing a collar could make him such a masochist in such a short amount of time, and he was almost nervous as he met Seijūrō’s eyes. Honestly, he didn’t know how this evening would end, and the uncertainty sent frissons of pleasure over his back.

But Seijūrō didn’t make a move to reach for him, even though once Kōki had moved on to unbuttoning and pulling down his trousers to leave him in his underwear he was already obviously hard. Maybe he just needed a bit of encouragement.

He almost frogmarched Seijūrō to sit on the bed, encouraged by how he desperately looked over his shoulder at Kōki and gazed at him as if he was a rare masterpiece (Seijūrō’s gaze always made him feel infinitely valuable, how it ached and yearned and almost, in a way, revered him). He sat Seijūrō on the bed and dropped to his knees on the floor before him, leaning his cheek against Seijūrō’s thigh before kissing the soft skin nearing his hip.

Seijūrō breathed in sharply. “Where did you… get the collar?”

“Online,” Kōki said, his voice slightly muffled as he bit his thigh, running his hands up his legs until he reached the fabric of his underwear before letting them drift down again, ignoring the slight sound of protest Seijūrō gave.

“And… how did you know?”

Kōki met his eyes and winked as Seijūrō’s previously light blush deepened. “I know you,” he said simply. It wasn’t a lie, either. Seijūrō didn’t share a lot in wakefulness, but when he was asleep he shared everything, and missing a night’s sleep every now and then to listen and learn as much as he could about the man he loved so much that it was a physical fire in his chest and a constant presence in his mind was well worth it.

Seijūrō smiled, and it was sunlight filtering through flowering cherry blossoms and a blanket of stars above a still, reflective lake in its beauty. “May I…?” He touched Kōki’s hair lightly and Kōki took it to nuzzle into his palm, lightly kissing his wrist. “Kōki…” he groaned, clutching at his hair when Kōki leaned forward to kiss just below his navel, his breath flitting quickly through his teeth when he worked his way lower… before stopping in the attentions of his lips and tongue. He pulled himself up, pushing Seijūrō back so he had space to perch on the bed between his legs. Seijūrō said his name again, as a low warning, the threat only disappearing when his voice broke.

“I thought you would be in control here, Sei,” he said lightly, curving his hands around the nape of his neck.

“I…” He paused to breathe, fixated on the collar.

“Red suits me, don’t you think? They had black too but I figured you’d be more appreciative of this one.” He took one hand away from Seijūrō to trail it over the leather, and Seijūrō reached for it hesitantly.

“Do you mind if I…?”

He brought himself closer, his forehead against Seijūrō’s. “I’m wearing it for you, Sei. I’m all yours.”

His hand trembled as he touched it, coiling his other arm around Kōki’s waist to bring him closer and place a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips.

Which was what he’d been waiting for, really. Kōki kissed him back more insistently, more desperately, too frantic for attention to be embarrassed at the needy sounds he was making when Seijūrō pulled him back to lie atop him. His own jeans were becoming too restrictive when what he wanted was to feel Seijūrō’s warmth and, struggling to keep balance on one arm and to undo and wrench off his jeans with Seijūrō’s legs tight around his waist and thrusting against him, he noticed Seijūrō pull away to instead sink his teeth into his shoulder. Nails dug into his back and he trembled before falling back, one arm going to his face to cover his eyes.

Kōki paused with his jeans around his calves. “Already?” he asked in shock. Surely… surely not? He couldn’t be _that_ appealing, it was nonsensical. He checked his reflection in the mirror to confirm. Normality looked back at him, and the man below him, who was finally revealing eyes the colour of gems to push his vibrant hair from his forehead, was anything _but_ normal.

“Just… give me a second,” Seijūrō asked weakly. Kōki struggled to roll off him and kick his jeans the rest of the way off, tucking his legs up beneath him as Seijūrō covered his face again.

Wh-what if it was bad news? What if he’d come home planning to break up with him, and Kōki had just ambushed him? What if he’d been told by a doctor that he had a life-threatening illness and absolutely could not engage in physical activity, including sex? What if the troubles with the company were more than he’d let on and they were being repossessed?

“I wouldn’t mind living in a smaller house if it was with you!” he blurted out. Seijūrō glanced at him quizzically, his cheeks still bright red and breathing much too quickly for someone who was, in all honesty, much too fit for how little free time he had. Oh no, maybe he wanted Kōki to leave him. That was it, he’d found some beautiful, tall model of a partner and had been going running with them every day and spending time with them, _that_ was why he was home so little. Hot tears sparked in his eyes. “O-or without you. I… I don’t want to force you into—”

“What are you talking about?” Seijūrō asked breathlessly, taking Kōki’s face into his hands before pulling back again. “You just caught me off guard. And that… that co…llar.” He choked out the last word, motioning to it with a wary sideways look, before hiding a smile behind his hands.

“It works to that extent?” he asked.

Kōki cursed his emotions, which _always_ ran too high during sex, or even foreplay, for even letting himself think something like that. He owed Seijūrō more after all he’d proved over the years, and if Kōki had to forcibly stamp out every shred of insecurity he had he would do it. It wasn’t anything about what kind of person Seijūrō _deserved_. He’d chosen Kōki, heart and soul; _that_ was all that mattered.

“I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful that you are right now.”

Kōki couldn’t help the smile. “Pervert,” he scolded, leaning in to kiss him again. Seijūrō gasped against his mouth, reaching up again to hold him and tensing when he touched the collar before pulling back again, closing his eyes as he bit his lower lip.

“Just a minute,” he said. Kōki heard just how much he was fighting to keep his voice steady, and almost morosely stroked the collar.

“Shall I take it off?”

Seijūrō looked at him regretfully. “Maybe if…” he trailed off. “Well, perhaps that would be for the best.” He watched longingly as Kōki struggled to undo it and lay it carefully on the bedside table before approaching to hover above Seijūrō again. “I’ll get used to it at some point,” he promised. His legs tightened around Kōki’s waist again as he reached over to touch the collar, breathing giving way to a choked moan when Kōki claimed his neck with a bite.

“Maybe I’ll wear it around the house.” Seijūrō gave him a deliciously alarmed look which only intensified at his next words. “I got a leash too, actually. It should be here within the week.”


	90. AkaFuri

One day after, the house was silent when he came back.

Seijūrō let his hand trail along the wall until it found the light switch, and the harsh brightness scalded his eyes. He was perfunctory, ignoring the whispered words which lingered in the walls and the shapes which blocked the doorway stubbornly, stood in front of the cooker as pans cheerfully bubbled on the hobs. He didn’t look at the photos as he took them from the walls, placing them in the box Kuroko carried in his arms.

He didn’t look at Kuroko’s eyes still watching him with a pity that he hated. He was too tired, too drawn, too pained. He said something that Akashi couldn’t hear.

-

It had been eight hours after that he’d watched Aito unconscious on the bed, looking more machine than human. The burn on the side of his face stretched along his head and down his neck and disappeared under the covers. He touched the cheek that wasn’t burnt. He retracted his hand when Aito stirred and stared at him as if he was a stranger for a moment before his eyes shut again and Seijūrō shattered into nothing. It was just under a year later when he watched video after video in darkness, still shattered and still breaking, his cheeks wet as he watched his previous life.

_stop distracting me_  laughingly filled the air. The Seijūrō on the screen paid no heed and pressed his cheek against paint-stained hair.

-

Nothing felt surer as when they were together, and nothing made less sense in the world he found himself in now. Kuroko found him on his knees beside Eri’s bed, numb and aching and numb. The head he’d memorised wasn’t resting on the pillow, strands of dark hair splayed like a halo. He couldn’t lean in to kiss his forehead. The love that he couldn’t hold back had nowhere to go but the ground.

Kuroko left. Seijūrō forced himself to his feet, took the teddy with the blue jumper from Eri’s bed, squeezing it tightly to his chest. Aito’s, identical with a red jumper, joined it.

-

Two weeks after, Seijūrō squeezed Aito’s shoulder until he looked up with a fearful expression.

“It’s okay,” he said, making sure to mouth the words clearly. Aito stared at him and tears collected in the corners of his eyes before he looked down at the teddy in his arms. Seijūrō was caught by the two headstones before them as Aito pressed his face against the plush’s red jumper. He jumped forwards suddenly, letting the teddy drop on the floor in front of the stone before turning to leap into Seijūrō’s arms.

He knelt down, Aito still burrowed against him and wailing against his shoulder as he straightened the toy. “Are you sure you want to give him yours?” he said against his ear.

“Give him mine?” he asked, his voice not quite clear. He leant back and Seijūrō nodded. “I want to give him mine,” he said slowly. “Eri will always have something of mine and I will always have something of his.”

Seijūrō pressed his lips to his child’s forehead and breathed in the scent of the only home he had left.

-

Ten years before, Seijūrō was watching the rings of sunlight against Kōki’s skin, kissed each freckle along his shoulders and back and each vertebrae until Kōki was weak with laughter. The gold on his finger flashed as he squirmed and Seijūrō caught his left hand and squeezed it tightly.

Stars were born and died in the time he stared at Kōki and his eyelids drooped before shutting. Seijūrō leaned in to kiss his temple and Kōki’s arms wound around his waist.

_i love you_

_i love you_

_…i love you still_

-

Two days after he was ambushed by the small body of a six-year-old who sobbed into his chest. Seijūrō fell to his knees with Aito still in his arms, holding everything he had left in the world.

-

Six years before Kōki had fallen asleep with both Eri and Aito in his arms and they were small enough to fit in the curve of his elbow. Seijūrō burned that moment into his memory, let it sear through his thoughts and colour his mind. He didn’t stir, not until Seijūrō carved his fingers through his hair. It took so much coaxing to have him let go of their new sons but he finally did.

_i don’t want to forget this_ , he whispers once they’re in the cots, safe and tucked away from the world.

-

_he was standing too close to the explosion—deafened—could be permanent_

-

Three months after Seijūrō was holding a sleeping Aito in his arms, exhausted but unable to sleep himself. It frightened the two of them to sleep alone so for now they remained together.

He brushed his lips against Aito’s hair as he felt his mind fracturing more and more. The new person looking out from within him was filled with regret. He couldn’t fight them, couldn’t beat them into a corner of his mind. They looked through his eyes at the sleeping child and fell.

He could hardly remember the first time his mind fractured, whether his other self had appeared from nowhere or slowly come to existence, testing out his reflexes one at a time, curling one finger after the other until he took over each one. This one appeared. Fully formed, fully able.

They touched Aito’s hair as Seijūrō watched on.

-

Seven years before Kōki was painting the room. His music blasted, a cacophony that had Seijūrō’s teeth rattling and he switched it off.

Kōki shone a smile over his shoulder.  _welcome home, Sei_  he said and Seijūrō fell all over again. He turned the music back on and left it low, switching on the camera and focusing on Kōki as he placed it on the table and joined him, gathering Kōki in his arms and kissing his cheek and neck.

_welcome home_  he thought as Kōki scolded him and accepted him.  _welcome home. welcome home_.

-

Eight months after they were walking together and Seijūrō’s breath caught when Aito beamed at him.

“You have Kōki’s smile, you know,” he said with his hands. Aito’s smile slid off his face but he seemed proud. He touched the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll smile every day,” he responded, his hands moving almost too quick for Seijūrō to track the words.

-

At the same moment Seijūrō was talking. Talking about nothing, the company, expansion, only grey and dull and nothing and nothing and nothing. The sun broke past the clouds and he remembered rivers of gold against Koki’s tanned skin and freckles.

_i don’t want this_ , he thought.  _i don’t want this_ , he said out loud.

He wanted sunlight. He wanted kaleidoscopes of colour and bad music. He wanted halos against pillowcases and warmth and unbearable love.

_akashi-san i would beg you to reconsider—_

_i don’t want this_

And he went back to his office and thought and looked at the picture frame that enclosed his three homes, the only places he belonged, not by forfeit but because he was chosen and treasured.

It was an hour later that the phone rang.

-

It was two minutes before that Kōki was singing along to the radio, and Eri and Aito begged him to stop. They laughed when he continued louder, wide smiles still adorning their faces as Kōki watched them in the mirror. The song ended and he switched the radio off.

_you two are as aggravating as your father_  he said, overfilled with fondness and love when they shrugged simultaneously.

_what’s that smell?_  Eri asked curiously. Kōki could smell it too, but couldn’t quite place it.

The engine groaned and Kōki frowned before the smell clicked.

It was fine. They were just in the middle of nowhere. He just had two six-year-olds to keep an eye on. Smoke billowed and Kōki wrinkled his nose at the smell of oil.

Dark and cloying and he wanted freshness and light. He wanted Seijūrō like oxygen and life and the finest of champagne and jewels.

He stopped the car and fire licked its way out of the bonnet.  _out of the car!_  he shouted. Aito was the quickest to react, out of his seatbelt and out of the vehicle in a second and Eri wailed as his own seatbelt caught. Kōki twisted, wrenching it off— _the door’s jammed!—use Aito’s_ —and Eri’s eyes widened as he looked behind Kōki, only able to shriek, and Kōki turned in time to see it bearing down upon them.

Tidal wave of metal and harsh lights which scalded and fire and the world shattered beneath him.


	91. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for breedafool

It was quiet when Seijūrō came home.

He tried not to panic immediately; after all, his first thought when his puppy didn’t come to him shouldn’t be that he’d somehow hurt himself or worse. It should be that maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was too engrossed in playing to realise that someone was home. Even if he had come home to some precarious situations, the pup hanging by one hand onto the door of an overhead cabinet, a new game when he decided to attempt to reach the chandelier in a leap from a sofa, that one time he’d come home and Kōki was tangled in the belt of his towel robe and several ties, the result being that if he’d struggled more a silk tie would have tightened around his throat. Even if it only took someone walking through the gate before he would bound up to ready himself to greet them, whether he was playing or sleeping.

Seijūrō felt cold and called out for him, heard the squeak from one of his toys (and the small hollow thump as if it had been thrown against a door) and followed it to his play room.

The pup’s ears pricked for a moment upon seeing him before dropping down again.

And  _he_  looked annoyed, of all things. As if he hadn’t just scared the life out of Seijūrō. “Kōki, when I call, you  _answer_.”

His tail went down between his legs, as determined as his child’s face was, and he buried his head under the pillow in his basket. “No,” he mumbled. “Not if you’ll just put me in the glass box anyway.”

Glass box? Seijūrō bent down to throw the squeaky toy back into his basket (Kōki’s head shot up, his ears forward at the toy before he saw Seijūrō again and hid himself).

In the research he’d done of Kōki’s kind, he knew that they were wary of everything larger than them, and he dropped to his knees beside the basket to counteract it. As difficult as that could render life, he’d promised when he found the tiny newborn pup abandoned in the bushes that he’d take care of it his entire life. If he left right now, as he  _really_  wanted to, he would be breaking that promise. “Kōki,” he said in the most gentle voice he could muster.

Kōki gave him an utterly terrified look, shouting, “Don’t put me in the glass box!” throughout intermittent attempts at growling.

“What glass box?”

“The glass box with the puppy in it!”

Seijūrō paused. He had a large house and garden, that was sure, but he was certain that he’d never seen a glass box with a _puppy_  in it. “Did you switch on the TV?” he asked. It wasn’t on _now_  and he was pretty certain that had he managed to turn it on he wouldn’t have thought of turning it off, but there was a chance?

Kōki sat back on his haunches. “Have you got more puppies in there?” he asked in horror.

“No! Where was this puppy?”

He sniffed, ears dropping further. “In the bathroom,” he answered.

Seijūrō almost rolled his eyes before remembering how surprisingly adept Kōki was at reading human body language. “How did you get up on the counter?” he asked.

“So you admit it! Were you going to put me in with the other puppy? He growled at me!”

Seijūrō rubbed his forehead. “Well you must have growled at him then.”

“You told me I was your only puppy! Why would you  _lie_ , Seijūrō-san?” He hit the side of the basket with a clenched fist and sniffed with tears welling in his brown eyes, before covering his face with his hands.

“It’s a mirror, Kōki. The puppy in  _there_  was you.”

He peeked through his fingers. “The puppy was me?”

Seijūrō nodded as one of Kōki’s ears perked up. His tail started wagging slowly. “I’ll show you,” he said, picking him up and taking him to the bathroom before placing him on the counter. Kōki growled, cutting off to a whine when his reflection copied him and turned to hide his head in Seijūrō’s jacket. “It’s  _you_ ,” he insisted, taking hold of Kōki’s shoulders to turn him back round. “See, I’m there too.”

“But–”

“No buts, Kōki. That puppy is you.”

He waved a hand in the air, his eyes widening when his reflection did the same, added the other hand in complicated movements before standing for a moment with his head cocking from one side to the other.

“How did you get up on the counter?”

“I jumped.” He turned to look at Seijūrō. “He doesn’t talk, Seijūrō-san. But I can.”

Seijūrō scratched him behind his ear and nodded. He  _jumped_. Only two, physically about five, and he could already leap up to the counter. He would have to puppy-proof the  _ceiling_  at this rate.


	92. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written using bosamiwa's (from tumblr) akafuri prompt

If Kōki could think about _anything_ further than his… _date_ … with Akashi he wouldn’t be trashing his brother’s room.

There was an explanation. For years, his brother had kept omamori amulets on one of his bags. Kōki had already found his own _kaiun_ from the last time he went to a shrine (which he wasn’t sure was working—as long as he’d had a crush on him, was Akashi being attracted to him good or bad fortune?), but he needed _more_.

The door banged open and Kōki pressed the amulet to his lips when his brother’s expression darkened. “What are you _doing_?”

“Looking for amulets.” And it wasn’t as if his room _wasn’t_ a mess before Kōki came in.

“I burned them all last week. They were all too old.”

Kōki gazed in horror at his lone omamori. It wasn’t enough. He’d mess up; stumble over his words and feet and Akashi would be bored and annoyed and _all_ because he didn’t have enough luck for the day. “Is two hours enough to get ready and go to a shrine?” he asked, his voice much too high-pitched.

“Get ready for what?” He took a pile of clothes from the floor and dropped it on the bed. “Help me fold these, Kou.”

“I don’t have _time_ ,” he whined, dropping to the floor and curling up into a foetal position. That was good. Maybe he could stay here and never see another human ever again.

Fabric dropped onto his head. “You messed up my room. The least you can do is help me put it right.”

“I don’t have time,” he repeated, before folding a t-shirt.

“Date?”

Kōki eyed him before nodding.

“There’s some amulets downstairs. Just use them.” Kōki shot up and out of the room, ignoring his name being called out behind him. He should have thought about it sooner; his parents were more spiritual than either him or his brother. The amulet finally worked, there was a small collection in both his father’s inside coat-pocket and his mother’s bag, and he hastily clipped them all to his own bag. That should… that should be enough. Enough to get him through the day.

It was ridiculous. He was _sure_ that Akashi was not going through the same panic.

-

Seijūrō tried to remain calm.

After all, meditating was _supposed_ to lower his heart and breathing rate, and send him into _something_ of a trance. Just to forget how terrified he was that he would mess everything up.

His chest shook when he breathed in and he opened one eye, jumping out of his skin when he saw Kuroko sitting in front of him watching him curiously.

He was about ninety-eight percent sure that he shouldn’t swear loudly whilst attempting to meditate, but he hadn’t expected _that_. “I told you to amuse yourselves elsewhere!” he choked out.

“I’ve never seen you so panicked, Akashi-kun.” Murasakibara shook his bag and dug through it with increasing agitation until Seijūrō threw some of the emergency maiubo he’d got into the habit of carrying around back in Teikō his way. “I’m worried for you, really.”

“I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“It wasn’t the best first impression.” He hopped up to his feet and went to join Kagami and Aomine on the court, _hopefully_ to break up the fight before someone was killed. Seijūrō fell back against the grass. Sure, his memory was a bit hazy concerning their meeting, but he was _pretty_ sure that the _other_ one had used scissors as a device to instil fear into… someone. The worst part was, he couldn’t remember if it had been Furihata or not.

“Akashi.” Seijūrō squinted through the sunlight at Midorima awkwardly staring down at him before he dropped an mp3 on his chest. “It’s on my ‘calm’ playlist. Peruse at your leisure.”

Seijūrō thanked him before checking the time—two hours until the proposed meeting time—and listened to it whilst covering his eyes. All piano music, and surprisingly effective. An hour later, he checked the time again.

Surely, it wouldn’t be complete madness to make sure he was early? If not, then he was very likely to run the risk of being late and the one thing he couldn’t risk was Furihata thinking he wouldn’t turn up and leaving. It would be so awkward the next time they talked, and he’d been crushing on the other boy _much_ too long to play with him.

“I’m going to leave now,” he said, the headphones still on his ears. Kise jumped.

“Isn’t it for another hour?”

Seijūrō ignored his question. “How do I look?”

“F-fine, Akashicchi.” He gaped when Seijūrō hopped onto his feet and handed the mp3 to him. He couldn’t risk anything. It _all_ had to be perfect.

-

Kōki was positively panicking.

He thought he’d been early, he thought he would be able to sit on a park bench and try out those breathing exercises that were always recommended for anxiety, gather himself and probably check his hair a few times to make sure that errant cowlick wasn’t giving the impression of his having an antenna sticking out of his head.

But Akashi was already _there_.

Even worse, he seemed agitated, his brow furrowed and chewing on his lower lip and checking his watch every couple of minutes. _Was_ he late? What if Akashi had been waiting for hours? What if he was angry?

Better to stay behind and watch for a little, just in case. He hid himself behind the branches of a tree whose plumage was thick enough to conceal him, his blood chilled when Akashi sighed.

_Step out, step out, step out_ , he told himself, but his legs refused to move.

At least, until Akashi turned to look at him quizzically. He moved back— _why_ he moved back he had no clue, and the branch shattered in his hands, leaving him standing there like an idiot holding the tufts of leaves like a cheerleader’s pompoms, probably with a ridiculous expression on his face.

“Furihata-kun?”

He stood up, looking every inch the regal prince and Kōki chucked the tree pieces to either side before approaching him. He should have thought about his appearance a little more; Akashi looked… well, Kōki didn’t _know_ an adjective which could give him justice. “Am… am I late? I didn’t mean to be; I honestly thought I was early.”

“You are,” his cheeks tinged pink and Kōki stared. “It appears we are both early.” He looked down for a moment. “Is that an _anzan_ on your bag?” he asked.

Mortified, Kōki located the offending amulet and shoved it into his bag. “I-it’s my mother’s,” he explained. Wait, why did _she_ have an omamori meant for pregnant women? He couldn’t handle having a baby in the house. His cousins were bad enough and they weren’t even in the _country_.

Akashi looked at him nervously for a short moment. “I apologise, Furihata-kun. What I have planned will not be for another hour and a half, at least. I should have prepared for this eventuality.”

He looked so _nervous_. Kōki smiled, stepping closer (until he _could_ have reached for Akashi’s hand, if he had any inkling of bravery that hadn’t turned tail and ran at the first sight of Akashi). “That’s fine. How about we go for some ice cream for now?”

“Ice cream?”

“You like sweet things, don’t you, Akashi-kun?”

“I do,” he answered, eyes wide and startled. “I-I’m not sure where to procure it, though.”

At least he followed pretty obediently, and before long Kōki was sitting on a bench just outside the ice cream shop he frequented with Kawahara and Fukuda with a green tea ice cream, and Akashi with the chocolatiest concoction he could have asked for.

“Our chef makes ice cream a lot during the summer but it’s not as good as this,” Akashi mused with a half-smile. Kōki hid a laugh by biting his plastic spoon. “I probably shouldn’t tell him that.”

“Probably not.”

“It tends to be savoury.” He shuddered delicately and Kōki couldn’t hold back the laugh at how disgusted he looked. “Would you like to try some, Furihata-kun?” He held out the small tub, but Kōki fixated on his spoon, which had a small piece on it.

Could he…? This was a _date_ , after all, surely he could. Before completely wimping out, he took Akashi’s wrist to bring the spoon closer and ate from it, before saying quietly, “It’s good,” and settling back.

That was a mistake. He was utterly mortified at making such a _cheesy_ gesture—what, was he taking reference from shoujo mangas?—and positive that Akashi was disgusted at him. “Furihata-kun—”

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t know why I did that.” Why did he have to ruin _everything_? Akashi would leave, he was certain of it, so certain that it was a weight in the pit of his stomach that he’d ruined his chances with someone he actually _really_ liked. When they had just been texting he’d get butterflies whenever Akashi replied, when they graduated to talking on the phone he wished he could fall asleep listening to his voice and hear it beside him every day, when it became video chats he was taken in by the little expressions Akashi made that betrayed his thoughts, how once his fringe grew out again he’d clip it back to work, how _patient_ he was when talking through the bits of maths that Kōki could never understand, how he’d blushed when asking Kōki out. Even the little things, like how surprisingly messy his room could be, even though he attempted to cover up the pile of clothes on his bed with a blanket. That one time they’d left the video chat on when Kōki was engrossed in a book until he heard the tune of a violin and looked up to see Akashi with his eyes closed as he played. And all of that was ruined beyond repair because he just didn’t _think_.

“I-I was going to say that I don’t mind indirect kisses.”

Kōki looked up from where he’d been hunched over his ice cream just in time to see Akashi turn away but not able to hide how red he was, even to the tips of his ears. He breathed in sharply, and his laughing was breathless. “You’re so cute, Akashi-kun.”

He eyed Kōki, before giving a small, slightly wry smile.

-

It was a good idea to keep the location of their date a surprise. Furihata begged a little on the way there to know where they were going, before giving up and instead slipping his hand into Seijūrō’s (initiating a pleasant shock which radiated warmth from their point of contact) but his look of confusion when Seijūrō stopped outside the aquarium. “Um… Akashi-kun, I think it’s closed.” He merely smiled in response, tapping on the door a few seconds before it opened.

“Akashi-sama, Furihata-sama.” The owner of the aquarium bowed to them both and Seijūrō saw Furihata’s mouth drop open.

“What did you do?” Furihata said quietly as they were ushered in.

“Hired out the aquarium.”

“Y-you… hired out…” he drifted off when a dolphin swam past in the aquarium in front of them. He tugged on Seijūrō’s hand to pull him closer.

His face lit up when the dolphin swam past again, this time chasing another and Seijūrō felt the remnants of his doubt dissipate. They had a chance, just as much as anyone. After all, since they’d started talking he didn’t want a day apart from him.

Furihata leaned into him and Seijūrō forced himself to look away at the show before him, even though it didn’t take long before Furihata’s smile brought him back.

-

_From: Kuroko Tetsuya_

_Did my idea work?_

Seijūrō frowned as he clicked off the chat with Kōki.

_To: Kuroko Tetsuya_

_I don’t know what you’re talking about._

It hadn’t been entirely Kuroko’s idea, after all. _He’d_ suggested a petting zoo, of all things. Nowhere near as romantic, and his family had no ties to one to have a private, after-hours viewing.

_From: Kuroko Tetsuya_

_Don’t be so difficult. I just want to know how it went._

How it went. Seijūrō thought of the warmth of Kōki’s hand in his, the beaming smile which was so innocent and achingly sweet, the short moment that he’d pressed against Seijūrō and put his head onto his shoulder, and the promise of what would follow in their years together. It belonged to him and Kōki alone. Kuroko had no place in it.

_To: Kuroko Tetsuya_

_It was fine._

_From: Kuroko Tetsuya_

_Furihata-kun hasn’t stopped smiling all day._

Seijūrō clicked back onto the chat with Kōki to see a new message.

_From: Furihata Kōki_

_I’ll prove next time that you don’t have to be rich and powerful to organise a good date._

_To: Furihata Kōki_

_Are you saying the date you organise will be better than mine?_

_From: Furihata Kōki_

_Even if it takes a hundred dates._

_To: Furihata Kōki_

_I can live with that_.

 

 

 


	93. AkaFuri

The acrobat was incredible, and upon watching him, Kōki’s mouth dropped open and the leadropes he was holding fell out of his hands. The three horses he had been leading, perfectly trained, remained beside their groom.

The man spun in the air, his movements seeming to laugh at gravity. The rope trailed behind him, whipping through the air almost as if it was trying to ensnare him. Back perfectly straight, he did one last flip and landed gracefully on his feet, walking away as if he hadn’t just become the most beautiful thing in Kōki’s life. Kōki, his heart in his mouth, watched his muscles move under pale skin.

“Furihata-kun? The horses.”

At Kuroko’s sudden appearance in front of him Kōki let out a squeak and scrabbled for the leadropes. “Who… who is he?”

“Akashi-kun. He’s joining us today.”

“O-oh,” Kōki said, leaning against the shoulder of the horse beside him. “He’s amazing, Kuroko. I… I don’t think I’ve ever…” _I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make such music with just their body_.

Kuroko pressed his lips together, though the rest of his face was still blank. “Furihata-kun—”

“Teach me.”

“Furihata-kun?”

He grasped hold of Kuroko’s shoulders. “You have to teach me how to be an acrobat. Enough that he notices me.”

“Last time you tried you got a concussion and had to stay in the hospital for three days.”

Kōki could only shake his head as he shook Kuroko’s smaller body by his shoulders. “I didn’t want it enough then. But I do now. Please, teach me!”

“Furihata-kun, the  _horses_.”


	94. MidoAka

That it only happened once was a testament to their entire relationship. Shintarō couldn’t work out how it started or ended, just that Akashi had pulled him down to his level by his hair, claiming his mouth and his mind and every sense he possessed. Just like he didn’t understand how Akashi was suddenly in his life and then out of it in a searing stream of something like fire or water. Years later it still burnt him, the memory of those few seconds Akashi controlled him.

He left, and his eye was a flash of gold in the darkness.


	95. AkaFuri

There was a cat sitting on the gate when Kōki got home.

As a first reaction, he tried to shoo it away. Cats weren’t his favourite animals, after all. If it had been a dog he would have played with it a little before sending it on its way, but cats were untrustworthy and just... _difficult_.

The cat regarded him indignantly, and Kōki shivered at the expression in its eyes. They were weirdly familiar, and _red_ , to make it worse, and the pale golden fur made it look like some royalty’s cat.

Kōki pushed the gate open with his little finger, just enough to squeeze past and eyeing the cat lest he try to swipe his head off. He did nothing, though his ears flicked back at a certain jolt of the gate before hopping off.

“No, no, you jumped off the wrong side.”

The cat stared, following him when he started to walk to the front door.

“No, dammit. The flat doesn’t allow animals. Otherwise I’d have a dog.” He prodded it away gently with his foot and it hissed before yowling loudly. Something along the lines of ‘ _Obey me, peasant!_ ’ Kōki was sure. He froze for a moment, something nudging him in the back of his mind. “Fine,” he mumbled, kneeling next to the animal and opening his bag. The cat peeked curiously into it when he did, batting some folders that Kōki pulled out. “In you go,” Kōki said, picking up the shocked animal and trying to place it carefully into his bag (half by poking its paws away from the sides as it scrabbled to gain purchase). “I have to sneak you past, otherwise you’re staying out here, okay?”

The cat looked at him, all four paws grasping the outside of the bag, before slowly letting itself go in.

“I’ll have to shut the bag a little.” The cat glared when he did, hissing when he covered the part which remained open with his jacket, and Kōki prodded the side. “Be happy that I’m letting you stay; I don’t even _like_ cats,” he said as he gathered up the folders in his arms.

“Furihata-kun! How was school?” hit him as soon as he opened the door.

Kōki smiled politely at Kirishima-san, who, like always, was sitting on a fold-up chair in the hallway. “It went well, Kirishima-san.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He considered how the cat would react. Probably by trashing everything. “I have a few assignments due in over the next couple of days. How about next week?”

She nodded, her beady eyes going back to the front door as Kōki ran upstairs, dug his keys out and let himself into his own apartment, locking the door behind him. The cat dove out as soon as he opened the bag, hair standing on end and tail surprisingly bushy as he hissed angrily. Kōki regretted his decision to let him in, and knelt on the floor pondering _why_ exactly this cat had chosen him.

The cat dropped to the floor and placed his head on his front paws, still staring at Kōki. He’d never thought that a cat could look _imploring_ , but that was how he looked.

“I really do have work to do,” Kōki muttered. The cat hopped to his feet and followed.

Not that the cat was helping in _any_ way whatsoever. He seemed more concerned with sitting _on_ the paper, and even when Kōki threw a bouncy ball, hoping he would chase it and leave him alone, he remained, staring at Kōki unwaveringly. It wasn’t until Kōki dragged him onto his lap that he settled, purring when Kōki absentmindedly stroked him.

“I still don’t get this one,” he half muttered to the cat, who sat up to peer at the paper clenched in his hand. “I suppose I could call Akashi…” he trailed off, chewing his bottom lip and the cat looked at him. “No, I won’t. I’ve gone two weeks without talking to him, and that’s good.” The cat hopped up onto the table, sniffing the pieces of paper strewn across it before delicately taking one between his teeth and pulling it out to place it before him. One of the sheets that Akashi had written up a couple of months ago. Kōki could remember the day clearly, just like he remembered _everything_ with Akashi, how he’d almost blurted out _just_ how he felt so many times that he lost count, how Akashi had looked with the sun behind him and his smile, the like which Kōki had only ever seen when they were alone together. He still couldn’t say anything—what if it was just his mind giving him false hope?—and had bit his tongue until he could taste blood and wrapped a blanket tight around his body once Akashi had left.

The cat made a soft sound and pressed his cold nose against Kōki’s cheek. Kōki rubbed under his eyes quickly to get rid of the tears and looked down at the sheet the cat had dragged over.

By some miracle, it was the one which fully detailed how to solve the problem on which he was stuck. He eyed the cat warily.

“Uh… when I went to the shrine and asked for help in academics, did the gods decide to send a _cat_?”

The cat sniffed haughtily, before picking his way back to Kōki’s lap and curling up.

-

The cat definitely wasn’t _normal_.

For one, he refused to eat meat. Point-blank refused, and in the end Kōki was so aggravated at the cat’s refusal to even sniff it that he was about four seconds away from throttling it to death. His own meal finished cooking, and the cat immediately started yowling and placing his paws on his leg as if he was considering climbing up.

“This is _tofu_ ,” Kōki explained incredulously. He shot back to his bowl and sat beside it, looking from Kōki to the offending meat, and back again.

The cat must have come from the gods. Kōki spooned a bit of tofu into a clean bowl and placed it beside the meat, and the cat happily tucked in. There was no other reason that he would refuse to eat meat.

The cat joined him in the living room when he was done, immediately draping himself over Kōki’s lap and purring when Kōki commenced stroking him.

-

The cat was lying beside him when he woke up. Kōki was positive he had fallen asleep in the living room, still purring whenever Kōki petted him, so sometime during the night he must have found Kōki’s bedroom and curled up beside him. Scratching behind his ears, he said a greeting which the cat replied to by rolling onto his back and blinking slowly at him.

“Akashi knows more about cats than I do. You should have gone to him.” He continued rhythmically stroking him. “Although I suppose it’s an excuse to call him.” He buried his face in the pillow and considered reaching for the phone on his bedside table. “Better than my other excuses, at least. Maybe he’ll know why you won’t eat meat.”

The cat made a soft noise and shuffled closer, closing his paws over Kōki’s hand where it was rubbing circles between his front legs.

“Other excuses? Stuff about school, mostly. I could ask Fukuda or Kawahara, really. And Izuki-senpai is good at a lot of stuff that I’m not good at. I just like listening to Akashi. It was different when I first met him, but now…” he sighed, rolling onto his back. “There’s no point. Akashi would never be interested in me anyway. In the end, it just hurt too much to have the person I love so close but not being brave enough to do anything about it.” The cat climbed onto his chest and batted at the phone on the table until Kōki picked it up. “You think I should call him?”

The cat stared down at him and Kōki swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I thought you were supposed to be here to help me with my school work, not with my shitty love life.”

Regardless, he didn’t answer, and Kōki had to stubbornly hold back tears when it clicked onto voicemail.

-

With having to fuss over the cats breakfast (tofu again; he refused any meat that Kōki tried to feed him) he forgot about his weekly outing with Kuroko walking Nigou so that Kagami could have a break. When there was a knock at the door, the cat shot from his lap and dove into his room with his tail puffed out like a squirrel’s. Kōki was confused at the reaction until he heard Nigou’s booming bark.

Kōki opened the door, ruffled Nigou’s ears when he bounded forwards. “I completely forgot. I’m sorry, just give me a second.”

“You… have a cat.” Kuroko looked behind Kōki pensively, and Kōki turned to see that he had returned, and was condescendingly glaring at the dog. Nigou pricked his ears and dropped to the floor to watch him. “You should stay,” he said. “With the cat. He looks like the high maintenance type.”

Kōki could have sworn the cat glowered at Kuroko. “I don’t think he’s a cat,” he hissed to Kuroko.

“You don’t?”

“I’m sure he understands everything I say and he refuses to eat meat.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“What kind of cat is a vegetarian? I think…” Kuroko would think he was crazy. Even _he_ thought he was crazy. “I think he was sent by the gods. You know, to guide me. It would at least explain him being a vegetarian. I’m having to feed him tofu and I’m terrified he’s going to drop dead on me. Cats need meat!”

“I don’t think he’s sent by the gods,” Kuroko said. Kōki sighed. “An emperor, maybe.”

“What?”

“Nothing. You stay here with him. I’ll be on my way.” Kōki looked back at the cat, and Kuroko had disappeared by the time he turned back.

“What did he mean by that?” The cat trotted forwards and pawed at his leg until Kōki bent to pick him up. “I suppose I’ll never know. Kuroko’s an enigma.” Head-butting his cheek, the cat purred happily.

Finally amusing himself with the bouncy ball, he left Kōki to work without more of a distraction than him twining affectionately round his legs a few times. His phone still distracted him, with an aching need to talk to Akashi, just _hear_ his voice and feel protected and kid himself that he had a chance. He tried calling again, but once more it clicked over to voicemail. His name slipped out as a sigh when he hung up, and the cat dove onto his lap. “He’s telling me to give up,” Kōki said. The cat placed a paw on his chest. “No, it’s fine. I couldn’t hold on to someone like him. It was a mistake to fall for him in the first place.” The cat mewed pathetically. “It’s late,” he continued, which it wasn’t. He was just exhausted. “You can sleep in my bed if you want.”

The cat slept close enough to him that he could feel his purring.

-

Kōki could feel it was late when he woke up, something stroking his hair back behind his ear. Cracking open one eye, he let out a sigh when he saw Akashi in the bed beside him and mumbled a “Morning, Akashi-kun,” before rolling over, only waking up properly when Akashi prodded his shoulder. “Wait, _what_?!” he exclaimed, struggling in the restrictive covers and almost falling off the bed. He wrenched the covers higher—he should _never_ go to bed wearing only his underwear; of _course_ something like this would happen—and waited for Akashi to say something. _Anything_ which would explain why he was here right now.

“Morning, Furihata-kun,” he said. Kōki waited, but he didn’t continue.

“Why… why are you here? In my bed?” he finally asked, and Akashi looked at him indignantly.

“I’ve been here for the past two days. It’s not my fault you didn’t recognise me. And you invited me into your bed.”

_Recognise_ …? “You… you were here? How?” Akashi sighed impatiently and Kōki blanched. “The _cat_?!” he shouted. Akashi raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Who else?”

He sat up, though Kōki remained lying down with the covers pulled up to his chin. “You turn into a cat.”

“Not very often,” Akashi said defensively. “It’s happened… twice before.”

“Any particular reason for this… transformation?” Kōki’s voice was high pitched. Akashi was looking at him in amusement and tentatively reached to brush his fringe back.

“Stress, I think. Which was caused by you, just so you know.”

Kōki sat up, trying not to look at Akashi’s body too much. It was annoyingly eye-catching, making him want to forget everything he’d promised himself.

And to the cat.

His stomach sank and he covered his face with his hands. “Why… why was it caused by me?” He _couldn’t_ remember it. It would just be unfair if Akashi remembered what he’d said, the multiple times he’d confessed his love.

“You refused to answer my calls. _You_ were the one who cut me out.”

“I…” Akashi touched his shoulder and he shivered. “Are you naked?” he asked.

Akashi’s cheeks tinged pink. “Ah… yes, I am. Whatever the… _condition_ is it’s not kind enough to transmute me with clothes.”

“Kuroko knew, didn’t he?”

“He saw me the last time it happened.”

“About what I said…” he trailed off and bit his lip. Akashi stopped breathing, his gaze so intent that Kōki’s brain couldn’t figure out a way to say _anything_ , whether it was to confirm his feelings or stubbornly push them aside. “You should get dressed!” he exclaimed instead, ignoring Akashi’s disappointed expression when he jumped to the floor and threw an armful of clothes onto the bed.

-

“We’re going to have to talk.”

Akashi placed his mug back on the table and Kōki shook his head. “You were spying on me, Akashi-kun. I have a right to retract everything I said when you were a _cat_.” Which he still didn’t understand in the slightest.

“Furihata-kun,” he insisted, taking Kōki’s wrist as he tried to back away. “I don’t want you to retract _anything_. You can always tell me how you feel.”

Kōki tried to glare at him, but probably ended up coming across as more desperate.

“It hurts when we’re apart, you know. Every day I’m just thinking about how I want to be beside you.” Kōki stopped struggling and Akashi immediately let go of him. “I’m sorry. You had the chance to tell me how you felt, even if you didn’t know it was me. I wanted the same chance.”

“Would it even be worth it for you?”

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, Furihata-kun.” He leant onto the table, staring at the blank screen of the TV. “Then you could understand how elated I was when I heard how you felt. Especially after two weeks of you entirely ignoring me. I thought you’d worked out how I felt about you and decided to dash my hopes before they could even grow into something real.” Kōki turned away stubbornly when Akashi faced him. “Which would have been extraordinarily cruel from your part.”

Akashi took his hand and Kōki jolted, reacting much too slowly when Akashi twined their fingers together. “You know, when I’m a cat it’s almost instinct; I come to the place I feel most at home. And that’s with you. If I had any doubts before they’ve gone now.”

He could almost believe it when Akashi said it like that, when his hand curved over his neck as gentle as a ghost and he kissed the corner of his mouth. He _wanted_ to, but it wasn’t possible. Why else would he have been rejected before, if only for _this_ person to want him? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

He still kissed back, accepted Akashi when he moulded against him, let his hand travel over his body as he muffled Kōki’s gasps.

“No one will accept this,” he said, letting out a sigh of… _bliss_ , if he allowed himself to feel that, as Akashi’s teeth grazed his neck.

“Your acceptance is all I need, Kōki,” he said, pulling back to look at him. Kōki tugged on strands of his hair. Maybe he was right. He could try to drown out everything with Akashi.

“Warn me next time you turn into a cat.”

Akashi smirked before climbing into Kōki’s lap to kiss him until he was breathless.


	96. MayuAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anonymous on tumblr

He never let Chihiro go on top.

It was something that settled in his mind when Akashi was tugging his hair, nails digging into his scalp. Not that it would bother him unless what they  _had_  became a real relationship. As it was now, the relationship was nothing more than tangled bedsheets and hands against skin and a gaping chasm where his heart had once been.

Still, he held onto Akashi’s hips and pulled him in closer, waiting until his legs were trembling and he’d moved to bite Chihiro’s shoulder to muffle the moan. Pushing Akashi back against the pillows was easier than it would have been before, and he pressed their lips together, needing more the closeness, every line and contour of Akashi’s body against his rather than anything affectionate like a kiss.

“What are you doing?” he asked, the cold edge to his voice disappearing when Chihiro shallowly thrust into him. His back arched, eyes closing and Chihiro could only stare at just how lovely he was when he lost all inhibitions.

He was falling just a little bit more every time even though it was the  _worst_  thing he could possibly do. It was what Akashi did, twisting claws into his mind and turning it to him and only him.

His golden eye dulled when it met Chihiro’s, and he reached up to cover Chihiro’s eyes with his hands. “Don’t look at me like that, Chihiro,” he said softly. Even softer, with such a gentle tone that Chihiro had never heard from him before, “ _I don’t deserve it_ ,” so soft that Chihiro was sure he hadn’t meant for it to be heard, or maybe he  _hadn’t_  heard it right and he’d said ‘ _You don’t deserve it_ ’ that was the only reasonable explanation, the only one that was congruent with the Akashi he knew.

He let his hands drop, over his neck and shoulders, and Chihiro could have sworn he felt tears on them.

And Chihiro was numb and aching at the same time, cursing Akashi for who and what he was, for this ‘ _relationship_ ’ which moved too fast and too slow until it was a blurry, indistinguishable mess in which the only constant was  _Akashi_ , Akashi held within his hands and too much a part of him for it to be healthy. He _ached_ , ached and longed until even this, Akashi trapping his mouth, stealing his breath and holding onto him tightly, wasn’t enough and would never be enough.

Best to distract himself from the tears opening in his chest. Akashi arched his back again as he came, gasping out a name, not Chihiro’s but that was  _fine_ , it was normal and expected. He kept his eyes closed, brows furrowing when Chihiro kissed his eyelids as he finished.

He bit his tongue so he wouldn’t whisper Akashi’s name, so he wouldn’t whisper ‘ _Seijūrō_ ’ as if it was the only name on his mind and the only one that mattered.

Akashi watched him before pushing on his chest, flattening his hair as Chihiro backed away and hopping off the bed as Chihiro watched.

The sheets may as well be stained with his blood from the countless times he’d been torn, just a bit more, a bit more until what remained was vestiges of a human, vaguely a living creature by the way his heart throbbed and beat.


	97. KiyoAka

“It’s fine,” Kiyoshi continued insisting, tugging on Akashi’s shoulder. “I’m… flattered, really.”

Akashi was tempted to turn around and forget what he’d said. After all, he was still hard, still missed Kiyoshi, had to bite his tongue to not make much-too-embarrassing noises when Kiyoshi pressed against his back.

But _still_. “Leave me alone,” he muttered. In the years to come, he was certain that _this_ would be what he regretted. He’d moved on and improved himself from how he hurt his friends and though he was still _far_ from being together, with support and a lot of wounded pride he was at least able to contain the part of himself that was undesirable and risked every relationship he’d built up. But _this_ … this was pure embarrassment. The type that he’d never recover from.

“It’s fine!” Kiyoshi repeated. Akashi covered his face. “Turn around…” he paused and Akashi considered it. “Baby?”

Too far. He booted Kiyoshi under the covers and as he scrabbled to not fall off the bed, stole his pillow to cover his head.

“What, you called me ‘daddy’, I thought you might like it!”

“Get out!”

“So you _don’t_ like it?”

“ _Out_.”

He finally left, and Akashi pulled the covers over his head, considering cutting out his tongue. Better than ever actually calling Kiyoshi ‘ _daddy_ ’ again when he was so close to his climax after weeks of no contact.

-

Three weeks later, he could look Kiyoshi in the eye again, and found himself blaming the Seirin second year group. After all, they treated him like a father, asking for advice, hiding behind him if they were nervous, and it only got worse when he bought them all ice creams.

“Do you want one?” Kiyoshi asked once he’d handed Furihata his.

“Y-yes. Thank you.” Akashi eyed him warily when he put an arm over his shoulder and observed the small group before him.

“Furihata, car!” he shouted, and Furihata jumped back from the road, half aided by Kuroko pulling his top. Furihata shot an embarrassed smile over his shoulder.

“Thanks, dad,” he quipped, and Akashi dropped his ice cream.

It wasn’t just the reminder of the _unfortunate_ incident, as Kiyoshi probably thought when he laughed, before cutting it off and apologising.

“It’s not that,” Akashi said.

“What is it, then?”

He glowered at Kiyoshi before looking ahead again to where Kuroko and Kagami were arguing. “I just realised that I’m the mother of five children.”


	98. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now you see me au

The strange mixture of lies and truth Seijūrō fed Furihata were enough to put anyone on edge. Enough for the anxiety he felt whenever they met, enough for the fear of abandonment he had, but desperately tried to repress, to be a reasonable fear.

 _I’ve always been interested in magic_ : truth, and the smile Furihata gave him as he said  _check your pocket_  was the most beautiful of prizes.  _But I don’t know anything about it_ : lies. He pretended to be surprised when the card—the ace of hearts—was discovered in his back pocket, pretended he hadn’t seen Furihata slip it in whilst distracting him with the view (pretended that it wasn’t because he was too in raptures about  _Furihata_ , about the wildness beneath his calm, mature exterior, about the way he looked out at the world as if it was saturated with possibilities instead of dismal heartbreak. When he should have been thinking about the beauty of the view he was watching the small expressions he made when he thought he had one over Seijūrō).

 _Anyone can learn_. Furihata toyed with the cards before sliding them back into his pocket.  _I’ve only just started with cards, what I do is more……_

He trailed off and Seijūrō didn’t push. He knew, after all. Furihata _was_  a pick pocket, a hacker, a thief as well as a street performer, on the run from the police and Interpol. His wildness wasn’t just apparent when they drove together and without warning, he would open the sun roof to stand on the seat and put his arms to the side like a bird gliding. It was ostensible also in his continuing relationship with Seijūrō, though Seijūrō had told him over and over that he was a detective (half-lie).

(Seijūrō had implored him to sit back down in his seat and he’d merely laughed, dropped one hand to take Seijūrō’s away from where it was tugging at his shirt, but not let go as Seijūrō drove. It had been the first time they’d held hands, and later, the first time they’d kissed, sitting on the bonnet of the car like  _both_  of them were teenagers rather than just Furihata. At only 18, he was too young to fall in love, but Seijūrō could feel the swells of it rising in his chest and couldn’t even apologise for what was to come, for all the lies and half-truths and the way Furihata accepted them so trustfully.)

It was the only time since he was a child and his mother showed him trick after trick that he lived in the moment.

-

Furihata was late.

That didn’t happen. If anything, Seijūrō would be late, and Furihata would watch him with an air of self-satisfaction (something like  _I’m the better one, more together than you though more than ten years younger_  and it would enrage Seijūrō and make him feel alive at the same time, and he almost gave in, letting go of his ideas to bring Haizaki to the shame he deserved to drown himself in Furihata). The bar was quieter than usual, enough that he could hear the almost rhythmic chinking of glasses and the tap of shoes against the wooden floors as he waited.

(He still didn’t know why it was  _him_  he was drawn to, instead of Momoi with her fairy-like beauty or Mayuzumi with his self-assured, almost cocky confidence. Furihata was the youngest, the least experienced, the most trusting. He didn’t know why he didn’t slip the pseudo-tarot card into his back pocket instead of stopping him to talk. Maybe it was when he’d slipped the watch off Seijūrō’s wrist and the wallet out of his jacket with Seijūrō _almost_  not noticing. He’d been a month shy of eighteen at the time but raking in the money with simple tricks to distract from the real trick of pick pocketing.)

“Sorry I’m late!” Furihata dropped onto the seat beside him and dropped a kiss onto his cheek.

“Can I give you that holier-than-thou look?”

He looked up from under his eyelashes and Seijūrō distracted himself by taking a sip of his drink. “I took the liberty of ordering you your normal.”

He was bestowed another kiss, and this time Seijūrō turned his head so it was on the corner of his mouth. “Are we doing anything special tonight?” Kōki asked lightly.

Much too lightly, as if he was trying to cover excitement with boredom unsuccessfully. Seijūrō remembered the beep on his phone, signalling that someone had entered the flat in downtown Tokyo and looked through the blueprints. After years of careful planning and research, it was beginning. Tonight could be the last night they saw each other. “Spending time together. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

He slowly touched the side of Seijūrō’s hand with his little finger before twining their fingers together and Seijūrō watched how his skin, tanned from his time wandering the streets contrasted against his own. “New watch?” he breathed out when Furihata watched him silently. He bit his lip before nodding. “I know you stole it,” he added, and Furihata wrenched his hand from Seijūrō’s with a familiar glare.

“Of course I did. I’m a teenager living on my own. It’s not like I can afford it.” He raised his chin stubbornly before eyeing Seijūrō’s hand, still palm-up on the table and placed his hand in it again. After a couple of seconds in which he looked like he was about to say something (probably confess that they could no longer see each other, that he was to travel around with a misfit group of street-magicians and former stars), but instead leant to press his lips to Seijūrō’s, and like every time it made him forget his need for revenge and long to be one of those people who could let bygones be bygones. His mother was dead, and that was it, there was no string he could pull to make her come back, no one he could put behind bars would reanimate her lifeless limbs.

Furihata broke away and it dissipated again into the redness of rage. “I need to talk to you,” he admitted, but he pressed another kiss to his lips. “I really do.”

Of  _all_  the people he could have chosen, even if Furihata was _perfect_ for the job, it was a mistake to choose him. “Go on,” he said when Furihata finally pulled away.

“I’m going away. Travelling for… a while. With some other street performers.”

“Is this the last night we’ll have?”

Furihata chewed his bottom lip before nodding.

So they had decided to leave within the week. Seijūrō filed it in his mind. They should be at the second safe house he’d organised quick enough that he’d have to hurry to set it all out.

And he wouldn’t see Furihata for a year at least. Not until the first trick.

“I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon, so…” Ducking his head, he took a deep breath. “Spend the night with me.”

Seijūrō’s heart stopped, before he slowly agreed. And Furihata was looking at him too intently for the dim light, too lovingly for it not to hurt. “I learnt a few card tricks,” he said when Furihata traced shapes over his palms. Lie: he knew more than Furihata did, learnt as a child after his mother amazed him again and again.

“Oh?” Furihata said with a beam. “Show me.”

Seijūrō took the cards from him and shuffled before fanning them out. “Look closely—”

“It doesn’t work if you  _tell_  me to look closely!”

“Shut up and pick a card.”

“So testy…” he said, tutting before taking one out of the pile. “Do I show you?”

“No.” And now for the difficult part, to  _not_  carry a simple magic trick perfectly as he always had, but to attract his attention enough that Furihata could stop him. He took it back and slipped it into his sleeve as he shuffled, watching as Furihata smirked at the movement—good, he’d seen it—and breaking the deck, holding it with one hand so Furihata would have to turn away from the table. Furihata glanced at him with one eyebrow raised.

“That’s not my card.”

“I know,” he said, pretending to move stealthily with the hand that obscured the card.

Even screwing up a simple trick he did easily, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Furihata grabbed his hand and slipped the card out from where he was attempting to place it under his glass. “My card is here.”

“It’s not like I can be perfect at everything,” he lied.

“Can we go somewhere a bit more private, then…” he trailed off before putting his head to one side. “Sensei?”

He shouldn’t have found that word on Furihata’s lips so appealing. As he froze, Furihata’s confident expression dropped. “It’s just that this could be… the last—”

“I know.”

The last time, at least, that Furihata would  _want_  to know him. The next time they saw each other he would be his enemy, and the time after that and the time after that, until he learnt to what extent the web of lies he’d created stretched, from horizon to horizon and twisted through Furihata’s future. He would  _hate_  him.

He was going to regret it. He knew that he would. “Where shall we go?”

“My place is just down the road from here. It’s nothing special but…” He pushed an errant strand behind his ears, though it fell forward again in seconds. Seijūrō took his hand.

It wasn’t special, the bare walls gave the place a cold feel and the wooden floors had splinters, but none of that mattered. For the only few hours they had left, he gave everything he possessed. From the moment Furi… Kōki had pulled him in, whispering  _I need you_  beneath his breath and against his lips, whispering it again against his neck to the moment they finally separated and he curled up on his side with his eyes closed, a small smile adorning his face as Seijūrō watched, Kōki was all that existed.

He splayed a hand on Kōki’s chest, feeling his heart and watching the difference between their skin, and Kōki’s cheeks stained a darker colour. “W-was that okay?”

Seijūrō looked at him inquisitively. “Was that your first time?”

“I mean it felt good for  _me_ , but—”

“Kōki.”

He shut his eyes tight. “It was my first. Street magicians don’t really get…” He paused before smirking. “Laid, I suppose the term would be.”

Seijūrō thought about how Kōki had pushed him gently but insistently towards the bed, the almost musical way he’d gasped out his name, and finally his  _given_  name when he was closer to his climax, that moment when Seijūrō had been unwearyingly teasing him and he’d whined impatiently before pushing him over to climb on top instead, ceaselessly taking control. He kissed his bare shoulder. “Perfect,” he said, his voice muffled. And he was lying. Kōki had given him everything, and he was still lying. “You were perfect, Kōki.”

One year that they couldn’t meet. He could tell Kōki was thinking along the same lines, and wished he could take him away and let themselves hide in a deserted land.

Kōki curled around his body, head on Seijūrō’s shoulder and sighed. “I know you’re not telling me everything, Seijūrō,” he said after minutes or hours. Seijūrō tightened his arms around his smaller form. “But, in the end, I trust you.” Even quieter: “In the end, I love you.”

Lies. He was barely eighteen, too young to know.

“I love you,” Seijūrō said. “That’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.”

He didn’t say that Kōki had lied. He didn’t say that he was behind everything. He didn’t say that, one year from now, Kōki would think of them as enemies. They were insignificant truths, paling in comparison to his confession.


	99. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for breedafool

Everyone had _said_ that raising twins would be difficult, sleepless nights, endless fighting and manipulation from both the children and the parents, but after a year of fairly smooth sailing and the twins developmentally perfectly on track, Seijūrō was beginning to think that it was down to sub-par parenting. The twins were fairly quiet, only woke up for night-time feeds, put themselves to sleep quickly if they were in the same cot, and were happy trying any and all foods (except for Eri having a rather strong aversion to peas, but that was just one thing). And Seijūrō had, honestly, believed it until he realised just how much he’d been duped.

It wasn’t often that Kōki wasn’t home taking care of the twins with him, but that day Seijūrō had them all to himself waiting for Kōki to come home from helping his brother move out. Generally, it was okay. Eri tottered around on chubby toddler legs, falling over a few times and either needing comforting or pushing himself right back up again, as Aito watched him from his vantage-point on the sofa (he was a lot more disinclined to walking, especially when he preferred being carried). But then dinner time came around.

It started well, all things considered. They settled into their high chairs and were quiet as Seijūrō talked about what he was doing—which was recommended in the majority of parenting books he read—before his phone chimed.

_From: Kōki  
Remember to feed Aito first!_

Which, honestly, made no sense. _Eri_ was the more impatient one of the two. But once everything was cooked and pureed he still sat in front of Aito’s chair and put some of the peas onto a spoon, which he ate happily.

Until Eri struggled in the chair, holding his hands out towards Seijūrō and shouting. Aito jumped when he hit the high chair and his face screwed up like he was about to cry.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Seijūrō urged, looking towards the door and _hoping_ that Kōki wouldn’t walk in at the _precise_ moment he lost control. He swiftly moved to Eri, feeding him some of the pureed carrots. Which _usually_ , he was perfectly content with.

This time he pouted instead, turning his face away when Seijūrō tried to give him another spoonful before letting out a high-pitched shriek which had Aito scrunching up his face again. “Eri!” he exclaimed, and held out the spoon again. Eri looked at it as if it had crawled out from the depths of hell and slapped it away.

He definitely didn’t enjoy being defied just as much as he didn’t enjoy being splattered with pureed carrots, and his son was doing both as the _other_ one giggled. Scooping more onto the spoon, he put it near Eri’s mouth again. “Open up,” he said, trying to inject something both commanding and gentle into his tone. Eri furrowed his brow and shook his head, pressing his lips tightly together. He tried to hit the spoon again and missed as Seijūrō pulled it back.

And he was already at a loss. Force-feeding could be too traumatising, he didn’t want to turn straight to sweets—which they were bound to eat but that was _never_ the answer.

“Just two spoonfuls,” he lied, and Eri watched him suspiciously as the spoon approached again, opening his mouth the tiniest amount and allowing Seijūrō to force it in. Leaving it for a second, he puffed out his cheeks before spitting it out and shaking his head furiously.

How did Kōki make this look so _easy_? Only three minutes in, and he was already covered with carrots.

“One spoonful,” he begged, heaping up another one and pressing it against Eri’s mouth as he whined without opening it. “Do you want desert or not?” he added. Not that he’d _planned_ desert or that he thought it was a particularly good idea, but he perked up at the word, eyeing him before opening his mouth.

At least bribery worked. Seijūrō revelled in his victory, forgetting for a moment that he’d left Aito with his bowl of pureed peas, and that _even_ Aito, when pushed, would be angry at a lack of attention. He made that clear by hitting his bowl, enough that pureed peas splattered both Seijūrō and Aito, before the bowl clattered loudly to the floor. Eri must have _sensed_ that it was peas, and immediately commenced to shrieking loudly before crying, rubbing his face and smearing carrot over his cheek. Aito, never one to act differently to his brother, followed suit. Seijūrō looked down at the half-empty bowl of carrots, almost tempted to copy them himself.

And of course Kōki had to come in at _that_ precise moment, with two screaming toddlers and the kitchen resembling a war zone. He looked at them both before giving Seijūrō an exasperated glare. “You fed Eri first, didn’t you?”

-

“What are they, gremlins?”

It was an hour later, the twins were finally fed and Seijūrō was helping Kōki bath them.

Kōki laughed and Aito stared at him for a second before copying. Eri took advantage of his distraction by taking the rubber duck he’d been clasping between his hands which Eri had been eyeing for the past five minutes. “You’re asking me if my children are gremlins?”

“Our children,” Seijūrō corrected, squeezing water out of the sponge to rub at Aito’s head. “And yes. Apparently, if we don’t follow the ‘feeding rules’ they turn into rabid beasts.”

If he was honest, he was just ticked off that they had acted perfectly for Kōki once he’d cleaned them up. He didn’t know exactly what it was about him, but ever since he’d been captain of Seirin’s basketball team in his third year it was hard-pressed to find people that would easily defy him. “There’s a trick to it. I’m surprised you didn’t realise earlier.” He flicked some water at Kōki and Eri copied him. Aito stole back the rubber duck.

“What’s the trick, then?”

“Feed Aito first—”

“I _did_.”

“—whilst giving Eri something to keep him preoccupied. I usually give him paper and some crayons. Eri doesn’t like thinking that he’s missing out on something, so once Aito is done he’ll be happy to eat. If you feed him first he’s not as interested, and anything he does Aito will copy.”

He took Aito out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel as Eri scrabbled into Seijūrō’s arms. “And you figured all this out how…?”

Kōki rolled his eyes. “Logic. Trial and error.” He pressed Aito closer and stroked Eri’s hair. “Regardless, I think we’re doing a pretty good job.”

Seijūrō kissed the corner of his mouth. “I suppose we are,” he said, simultaneously thinking about difficult it would have been without him.


	100. AkaFuri

They’d been going out for eleven months.

At least, they’d been ‘going out’. Eleven months ago to the day Akashi had politely informed him of his intentions regarding Kōki (as in, eventual  _marriage_ ) before asking whether it would be too much trouble to deepen their friendship. Kōki had been too startled to decline properly and before long was actually  _enjoying_ himself.

Except that Seijūrō had done  _nothing_  to further their relationship beyond talking to him affectionately. Which only stressed Kōki out even more—had he decided Kōki was no longer worth the trouble and was only maintaining their relationship as a sense of duty?

Not that he had the  _guts_  to bring it up. In the end, he was scared that it would turn out to be true.

“It’s simple. You have to make a move on him,” Fukuda said through a mouthful of chips. Kōki rolled his eyes and picked through his own portion.

“It really isn’t that easy. Not for me, at least.”

“It’s not easy for anyone.” He gave Kōki a look of someone imparting great wisdom and punched his shoulder.

“ _Ow_. You’re an idiot. You said it was easy and now you’re backtracking?”

“The  _advice_  is simple. Carrying it out isn’t easy.” He patted at him awkwardly instead. “But just try. You’ll feel better after.”

“Pathetic,” Kōki muttered.

Fukuda stuttered a little bit before forcing a confident smile which was half-way convincing, regardless of his pointless advice.

It circulated in his mind until by the time he met up with Akashi—which could only happen once a fortnight at most—he was so tightly wound that he was chewing his bottom lip to shreds. Akashi was well-bred enough to be able to maintain the conversation mostly by himself, before finally asking what was wrong.

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, before jumping off the bed and busying his hands reorganising some books on his bookshelf. From the corner of Kōki’s eye, he saw Akashi scowling, which he had a habit of petulantly doing if he was ever left out of the loop.

“Kōki,” he almost whined, and Kōki hid a smile behind his hand. “What’s wrong? And stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.” Akashi raised an eyebrow and shut the game console he’d been occupying himself with.

“Liar.” He smiled and propped himself up on his elbows, his hand moving fractionally in Kōki’s direction before it clenched into a fist. His expression just confused Kōki,  _surely_  such a loving expression would have led to more affectionate gestures than what he’d been given. When it didn’t let up he climbed onto the bed beside him.

Akashi stopped breathing and stared, as Kōki’s heart thumped loud enough that it was audible to his ears. “M-maybe I’m laughing a little.”

If he thought of this moment as now or never, then he  _had_  to do something. Akashi was still staring, completely still when Kōki brushed a strand of his fringe back and leant closer to kiss him.

He didn’t want to admit that it was his first time, that the way Akashi kissed back made him feel completely out of control and almost wild, that the warmth when Akashi held him was both too much and too little. The first time he pulled back Akashi’s hand settled at the small of his back, but he was still staring at his lips. It was too tempting to steal another one, to continue pressing chaste kisses to his face until his hands were still enough to cup the back of his head.

His hair was as soft as a kitten’s fur.

He pulled back and Akashi placed a hand over his heart as he hid another smile.

“It was that bad?” Akashi asked in horror, starting to pull his hand back before Kōki trapped it against his chest.

“No! I was just thinking that your hair is really soft.”

Akashi blinked. “Is that all you have to say?” he blurted out.

Kōki touched the blush on Akashi’s cheeks, half wondering if he’d ever be able to stop touching him after so long being isolated. “No,” he admitted. “I was worried that you were losing interest.”

“Losing interest?”

“You were saying everything you should but not  _acting_  on it, and I wasn’t sure  _why_.”

Akashi twined their fingers together until Kōki grasped onto his hand hard. “I’m scared of pushing us too fast and… losing it. Losing everything.”

It wasn’t difficult to vow to otherwise. Surprisingly easy to speak, as if this barrier had been their hardest trial. The lost time he’d had Akashi so close but untouchable hurt the most, even if logically it  _had_ been a good idea to take everything slow and learn everything that made Akashi who he was, his moods which would lighten the red of his left eye to gold for a split-second, his smile when everything was well and the artfully-hidden pain when it wasn’t. He’d memorised the softness to his voice when he realised Kōki was falling asleep whilst on the phone and how his eyes would linger sometimes, and it would make him both nervous and preen under his gaze. Surely it wasn’t  _nothing_ , to hold the interest of someone like Akashi.

And maybe he wasn’t entirely unworthy. Everything that could possibly keep them apart was only a social construct.

“So our chances are good?” Akashi asked.

“I’d say,” Kōki answered, edging closer to steal more affection. “Next time you’re making the first move.”


	101. MayuAkaFuri/Gen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically pre-slash mayuakafuri, but can be read as mostly gen (apart from completely understandable crushes). Part of an orchestra AU which was originally just akafuri/midotaka but.... blossomed.

Mayuzumi was reading porn.

Kōki  _tried_  not to look over his shoulder, but every now and then certain unrealistic phrases caught his eye and either sent him into a fit of giggles or silent with horror. Even worse, the  _pictures_. Kōki didn’t understand how he could bring himself to read such a thing in public, especially when he was pretty sure Kuroko was standing up to peek over the seat at it.

“Are you not embarrassed?”

Mayuzumi frowned at him. “I don’t like flying. This just distracts me.”

“Well I’m nervous about tonight!” Kōki looked down at his own book, one that Kuroko had given him a while back, which was filled with beautiful imagery and multi-dimensional characters. “But I’m not reading porn,” he hissed quietly, feeling his face heat up.

“You’ll be fine,” he said blankly, before squeezing his hand. Kōki looked down at their hands and he let go suddenly. “Just so you know, I found your stash,” he said suddenly, smirking infernally when Kōki’s mouth dropped open.

“I-I don’t  _have_  a stash. Must have been Fukuda’s,” he lied. It didn’t matter if Mayuzumi’s opinion on Fukuda lowered. Although he did feel guilty speaking badly of someone who was currently sleeping with his head on Kōki’s shoulder. “We share a suitcase, after all.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, if he was honest. It wasn’t true, and even if it  _was_  why would Fukuda be putting his porn where it was easily accessible?

“So Fukuda’s the kinky one, is he?”

“ _Kinky_?” Kōki slapped his hands over his mouth when he said it louder than he had wanted, and Fukuda stirred before sitting up.

“Kinky?” he repeated, and Kōki looked at him with wide eyes.

“Go back to sleep, Fukuda,” he said in what he hoped was the kind of voice that hypnotists used, and almost did a victory dance when his eyes slid shut again. “What was kinky about it?” he resumed, freezing when Fukuda mumbled ‘ _kinky_ ’ in his sleep. “Maybe I shouldn’t let him sleep on me.”

“Maybe not. But what was it? BL stuff?” Mayuzumi shrugged. “That’s kinky, isn’t it?”

Usually they got on, but every now and then Kōki had a real need to pound on him. Case in point: the illustration he was currently looking at featured two girls in a compromising position. “Hypocrite!” he said, trying to wrench the book from his hand, simultaneously karate chopping his elbow. Maybe a little exuberantly, when it flung out of their hands following the struggle, flew across the aisle and landed directly in someone’s lap.

Worse, Akashi’s lap.

Even worse, Kōki’s crush’s lap.

“Oh no,” he said, covering his face with his hands. Maybe Akashi wouldn’t recognise him. Maybe the plane would explode. Maybe the  _world_  would explode. Anything would be less painful, after all.

“I doubt it was Furihata-kun, Mayuzumi,” he heard, and Kōki looked up to see Mayuzumi pointing at him whilst looking at Akashi expressionlessly.

“Mayuzumi-san!” he said, peeking over to Akashi, who was currently flicking through the book, eyebrows raising fractionally.

It  _really_  wasn’t the moment for his mind to short-circuit and only able to think about how  _good_  he looked when wearing casual clothes. Mayuzumi watched him carefully, the corners of his mouth turned down no more than a millimetre. “Why are you blushing?”

“I-it’s an embarrassing situation!” he exclaimed, jumping when the book soared through the air again and landed on his lap. “Take your book, Mayuzumi-san.”

“Interesting taste in literature, Mayuzumi,” Akashi added and Mayuzumi glowered at him before taking it off Kōki’s lap.

“You have to make my life difficult, don’t you,” Kōki said quietly, wondering why the world suddenly decided to act against him when Fukuda mumbled ‘ _kinky_ ’ in his sleep again and Akashi looked at him curiously.


	102. AkaFuri

Seijūrō’s legs were trembling.

And that was the worst part of it all, that they physically couldn’t keep up with the pace they wanted—needed—but couldn’t change from the position they were in because it was just  _so good_ , so perfect, building up the heat until their skin was scalded, until they were sure they only had to look down at their chest and abdomen and see scorch marks.

Or maybe they would be on their thighs, where Kōki was gripping at and digging his nails in. Maybe against their lips, where needy _sounds_  were spilling out. Maybe between their fingers, where they’d captured silky strands of Kōki’s hair and gripped until they couldn’t slip free.

But the very best part was that Kōki was equally as affected. His hands were shaking against their skin, it took twice the time it should for his hands to gain enough dexterity to grasp at their hips. His face was hidden against their neck and Seijūrō arched forwards when they felt a bite on their clavicle. “You’re so warm in-inside,” Kōki managed to get out, and when Seijūrō pushed him back enough to see him, his cheeks were stained a dark red in embarrassment.

“So lewd, Kōki,” they teased. In another situation, they might have done more to prompt more of a reaction, but their mind and body was so filled with him that it wasn’t possible. Maybe later, if later existed, if  _anything_  existed past this moment with Kōki between their thighs and his hands everywhere.

But, once again, Kōki surprised them, his eyes narrowing before kissing them. “Faster.” His voice was a low command, and Seijūrō was sure they shouldn’t feel the frisson of pleasure when Kōki commanded them.

But their legs were trembling far too much, even  _this_  pace was too much when they were far too gone. Kōki waited for a moment, before switching them over, kissing them again impatiently, and… maybe this  _was_  better, Kōki setting a pace which had Seijūrō’s head hitting the headboard occasionally, his hand at the small of Seijūrō’s back to pull them closer. The rhythmic movement stilled when Seijūrō gasped his name, until Kōki’s hand was on their erection and they were too close, falling over the edge and pulling Kōki with them.

They didn’t mind supporting Kōki’s weight after, ankles still crossed on his back and feeling the warm glow that was situated firmly somewhere between their chests, were even unwilling to let him move away.

“I told you you’d enjoy me topping,” he grumbled against Seijūrō’s neck.

“I’ve never been so glad to be so wrong in my life,” they said back, and Kōki pushed away abruptly, the blush making a welcome return. Welcome to Seijūrō, at least. Kōki seemed to despise it.

“So… I can do that more?”

Seijūrō merely smiled, taking one of Kōki’s hands between both of theirs—hopefully he wouldn’t bolt in his embarrassment. Kōki pressed a chaste kiss against their cheek and settled beside them. “I will do it more,” he mumbled, his eyelids dropping. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“This just means we’ll be having sex twice as often.”

“Good,” Kōki said, opening one eye to look at them. “We’re only young once. There’s a lot I want to try.”

Seijūrō couldn’t quite work out whether that was a joke or not.


	103. MayuAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anon on tumblr

Chihiro did not like the feel of Akashi’s hair.

He didn’t. For one, it was too soft and silky, whenever he brushed non-existent objects out of it as Akashi looked at him quizzically. ( _There was a leaf in it. Flower petals fell in. Don’t look at me like that I’m not lying I’m not—_ ) Furthermore, it was a _horrendous_ colour, too bright and vivid and the type that chased him in his dreams, painted his hands and body and entire world until he couldn’t break free.

He wasn’t sure, then, _why_ he always took the excuse to touch it, why every time they kissed he would grasp at it, when this relationship was nothing about the simple touches between _real_ lovers and everything about physicality and domination. Simple touches was what made up a real love for someone, nothing like the kind of blind lust he felt for Akashi.

Except when the lines blurred and Akashi was what he saw even when they weren’t close. Except when Akashi would take his hand if they were walking and there was no ulterior motive. Except when he forgot to blame an errant strand when he touched his hair and Akashi _didn’t_ even look up inquisitively, as if Chihiro petting him had become part of a routine.

Chihiro caught him up, kissed the top of his head and his cheek pressed against the soft strands as Akashi jolted and went up on his tiptoes to kiss his mouth, and it was abnormal and just plain _weird_ that it didn’t build up into sex but just enjoying the feel of Akashi against him and kissing him.

The line between tolerance and love was thinner than he’d thought. Not that he’d admit to anything.


	104. AkaFuri

Seijūrō didn’t do well in the cold.

He’d managed to hide it for a while, braving the frost when Kōki decided to throw snowballs at him, going out in the early morning because Kōki thrived in the cold for some reason, and nothing was better than walking with him when everything was silent and empty.

Well, he would prefer if they were huddled up in bed together under several covers, unwilling to move because of the warmth trapped between them and their legs too tangled to tell which belonged to whom, but Kōki was always out of bed early, and with how little time they could spend together Seijūrō didn’t want to waste a single minute.

“We should go ice skating,” Kōki chirped, and Seijūrō outwardly agreed whilst inwardly doing anything  _but_. He’d tried it once before, years ago when his mother had decided to take him and hated every minute, unable to balance until his entire body was littered with bruises from falls. She’d coddled him after when the pain caught up and he’d sobbed over it, but could only imagine that Kōki would find it all very amusing.

Kōki cocked his head and observed him with a small smile. “If you don’t know how to I can teach you—”

“I can ice skate!” Seijūrō insisted, a tad more violently than he would have wanted. Not that it scared Kōki anymore.

It was  _entirely_  a lie, he was sure. He had amazing dexterity, so picking it up shouldn’t be difficult.

Dread still filled him, though.

“Okay,” Kōki said, and Seijūrō stole the warmth from his body when he leant in for a kiss. “We’ll go tomorrow, then. Something romantic for our last day.” He beamed, and Seijūrō huddled closer, almost forgetting why he didn’t  _want_  to go.

It didn’t matter, in the end. He woke up to dark clouds and Kōki grumbling as he looked out of the window. “We’re snowed in,” he said in explanation to Seijūrō’s inquisitive glance.

The gods were on his side. “Completely snowed in?” he asked. Kōki eyed the world outside again.

“Looks like it. At least you’ll have to stay a little longer.”

His father wouldn’t be happy, but Seijūrō couldn’t care when Kōki climbed back into the bed—single, so they had to remain close as it was. “I suppose we can stay in bed all day…?” Kōki asked, not seeming entirely convinced.

_Finally_. Seijūrō kissed his chin and Kōki tightened his arms around him. “That sounds perfect,” he said, already feeling languid and more relaxed than he could remember.

“We’ll have to do something wild to make up for it,” Kōki added, and Seijūrō kissed him again, partly to distract him and partly because he could.


	105. NijiAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anon on tumblr

Seijūrō had been working for too long.

It was obvious by the shadows under his eyes, the hunched way he was sitting and how incessantly he was digging his nail into the wood of the desk—he’d almost worked at it enough to push a hole through. And even with the non-stop hours he’d been battling through the pile, it was still larger than the pile on the floor, which showed what he’d already done.

It was a dirty tactic, Shūzō knew, but at this rate he’d completely break down, and Shūzō was _nothing_ if not a considerate fiancé. He moved slowly first, kneading Seijūrō’s shoulders until he straightened his back, kissing the top of his head quickly, then the curve of his ear. Once Seijūrō was pressing against him, arching his back to get more contact, he kissed his neck in a lingering way, urged on by the way Seijūrō’s breath quivered through his teeth.

“Take a break,” he said against Seijūrō’s skin, before running a hand down his chest.

“I can’t right n—”

“Take a _break_.” More insistent. He tried to channel their previous captain-subordinate relationship—as much as he hated it, _anything_ to make him rest—and Seijūrō jolted against him, a hand flying to the back of his head to twist through Shūzō’s hair and anchor him in place. “Up,” he continued, and Seijūrō obeyed, meeting his eyes before Shūzō claimed his mouth. It was already promising when Seijūrō was tugging at his top—maybe it wouldn’t take too much to coax him to their bed and convince him to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time.

“Practice for the honeymoon?” he asked, and Shūzō wondered just how Seijūrō would react when he was unceremoniously dropped on the bed and left to sleep.

Or… maybe a little deviation from his original plan wouldn’t be amiss, he thought when Seijūrō bit his lower lip and backed him up against a wall. It was always easier to sleep after sex.

And he did drop off soon after, a contented expression on his face that only increased when Shūzō allowed more affection in kissing the side of his head.

Not that the contentedness extended to the next day when he discovered he’d slept a clear sixteen hours, and through his alarm.


	106. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by kumiko-walker on tumblr

There wasn’t ever anything quite as beautiful as Kōki when he first woke, lips parting in a sigh and brow furrowing for the smallest moment before his eyes blinked open. He frowned at the sight of Seijūrō watching him and touched the dark circles under his eyes.

“You need to keep your strength up,” he said in a monotone, darting a look to the formal wear hung over the door. “It won’t do for you to faint partway through the ceremony, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that,” Seijūrō said. “Of  _all_  people,  _you’re_  the one I don’t want to hear calling me that.”

His eyes were strangely dull, and Seijūrō’s breath caught in his throat. “I have to get used to it.”

_Unfair_. Seijūrō pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, and with his mood beforehand it surprised him when Kōki responded almost violently, his arms and legs wrapped around him almost tight enough to bruise. “You have to get ready for the wedding, Seijūrō,” he said, and Seijūrō nodded slowly, breathless when tears filled Kōki’s eyes.

He didn’t comment on it. There was nothing he could say, after all.


	107. AkaFuri

People never believed Kōki when he told them that Akashi was, in fact, the more submissive in their relationship. In all accounts, it didn’t make  _sense_. Akashi had a habit of watching people as if he was undressing them with his eyes in order to humiliate them, the way he moved could only be described as sensual. He wasn’t even a  _virgin_ , which made it more unbelievable.

But also gave Kōki a sense of ease that he wouldn’t have were Akashi suave and relaxed whenever they were together. The small tinge of nervousness, characterised by the colour dawning on his cheeks whenever they touched, how he would stammer whenever Kōki curled into him before regaining composure, and how he would avidly scan Kōki’s face to make sure he was enjoying himself made him feel secure.  _Wanted_ , and after all the mess that had come from his previous crushes it was a welcome change.

The best part, though, were the kisses. The first, a peck on the back of his hand, and Kōki’s heart had threatened to beat right out of his chest. The second, on his cheek during a lingering hug, and his face had burned, and Akashi didn’t look any better off but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The third, Kōki bestowing one on Akashi’s forehead, fourth a few seconds later on his jaw.

And the seconds after that when Akashi just looked at him, and Kōki couldn’t read the expression in his eyes but couldn’t look away. His fringe was brushed away from his forehead and an imparted, lingering touch on his neck. Kōki’s entire  _body_  was burning and freezing at the same time, even though he’d initiated it, thought he could go through with it without too much calamity, butterflies flitted about his stomach. Akashi leant in and trapped Kōki’s bottom lip between his for the shortest moment before pulling away. He looked down and stammered an apology, the redness reaching to the tips of his ears. Kōki, transfixed, pulled him forwards to continue it, muffling the small, startled sound he made.

Not that it mattered how others saw their relationship. It was for their eyes only.


	108. AkaFuri

It was over.

Not that it ever  _was_ , in the first place. Seijūrō hadn’t become Kōki secret benefactor to win him over, and had never even thought of telling him that his entire  _world_  was Kōki, that everything pulled him to Kōki’s side, that for so many months that had bled into years he’d loved him. The greatest fear was losing him, after all, that the one person he’d actually come  _close_  (but not quite, he could never reveal all) to admitting the tempestuous fights in his mind. The only person since his mother who had held him so tightly he didn’t feel like shards of himself were stripping off and leaving him bare and weak.

What had started five years before, when he sought refuge from violent rain in Kōki’s mother’s flower shop whilst Kōki was managing it, what had continued as he came again and again, what had never found a suitable conclusion, was withering before his eyes. It was leaving only the memory of possibility.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, because it was too sudden to even enter the realm of possibility.

Kōki’s cheeks were flushed. “I’m engaged,” he repeated.

“To be married?”

His brow creased in amusement. “Yes, Akashi-kun.”

But of course why wouldn’t he be? He was always talking about myriads of friends from his degree, he’d flourished from an awkward sixteen year old boy to a confident twenty-one year old man. It was only natural that he would have admirers, and that he would admire people himself.

“And to think that I almost didn’t accept the scholarship. I never would have met her if I’d turned it down.” He beamed, and the knife was twisted a little more in Seijūrō’s heart. He could remember that day almost to the letter, Kōki insisting that he would turn it down— _“It’s completely anonymous, Akashi-kun…for all I know they could demand something in return a few years from now…what if they want me to become an assassin, Akashi-kun? I can’t be an assassin!”_ —and Seijūrō insisting that it was a good idea to take it, at the same time admiring how impassioned Kōki could be.

“I’m happy for you,” Seijūrō said, though from how he heard it it could have been said from the bottom of a deep cavern. He hid the golden box behind him, though Kōki caught the movement.

“I needed to get over someone in particular, after all,” he said, half-jokingly, before nervously darting a look in Seijūrō’s direction.

“Someone in particular?” Seijūrō asked. There had been  _others_?

“What’s in the box?” Kōki asked suddenly, and Seijūrō pushed it out of his mind. It didn’t matter anymore, after all.

“Oh… nothing,” Seijūrō lied. “I was just bringing it back from the office because it doesn’t fit the décor.”

Kōki hid a smile before bounding forwards to take his hand. “You have to meet her,” he insisted. “I’ve already told her all about you.”

_No_ , he thought, before forcing a thoughtful expression. “I’m travelling a lot over the next few months,” he said.

“Really? You said you were going to give up on travelling for work.”

_That was before you made my confession impossible_. “Some last-minute things came up.”

Kōki dropped his hand, and Seijūrō’s hand almost burned from the lost contact. He almost stepped forwards to take his again, if only to enjoy how it felt one last time. Even though it wasn’t worth it. What joy and peace he’d found with Kōki hadn’t been real, if it couldn’t last indefinitely. Nothing was constant and real.

Almost in a trance, he reached for Kōki’s cheek, watching as his eyes widened and his cheeks burned red. “I wish you every happiness, Kōki. You deserve it.”

He could have lied, said that Kōki was the one who slowly leaned in. As if was, the truth was that Seijūrō slowly leaned in to kiss him, whilst Kōki stood shell-shocked for a second, before almost melting into the kiss with a quiet sigh, his body arched forwards to him until Seijūrō felt timid hands against his chest.

_Too far_. He pulled away, refusing to meet Kōki’s eyes before placing the box in his arms and leaving for the last time.

“Enough,” he said beneath his breath as his vision blurred and hot tears traced their way down his cheeks.

Behind him, in every sense of the word, Kōki opened the box to see the red rose edged with gold and the small note placed behind it.

_I hope beyond hope that you will accept me. My love for you, like this rose, will last forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.theforeverrose.com/All_Colors_Pg.htm ((I always thought I’d write a fic based around these roses but always assumed it would be mega-fluff))


	109. AkaFuri

A long distance relationship, in most cases, wasn’t worth the trouble.

Kōki knew that; it had been drilled into him enough as his brother lamented over his girlfriend in Akita. But he still walked with both eyes open into a relationship (and consequently falling in love) with Seijūrō.

His evenings after practice were thus texting the entire way back on the train (hiding smiles even though he could see the others in the car giggling at him), and switching on Skype as soon as he was home to leave it on a video call with Seijūrō as they did their own work. It wasn’t the same as physical contact, and would never live up to those small moments when they were together and everything else was monochrome and dull in comparison and their relationship slowly progressed through fleeting touches to lingering kisses. Every moment they could steal alone could by itself, Kōki supposed, redeem every difficulty they had. He only now understood why his brother had taken so many pains to continue his relationship.

And perhaps even the moments apart were worth it, only bringing them closer together once they were finally together, he thought as Seijūrō blew a kiss to the camera before shutting it off. Kōki hid his wide smile by shoving his face into a pillow, unaware that four-hundred and fifty kilometres away Seijūrō was doing the same.


	110. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wafucchi gave me ideas when i couldn't write (thank you fuwa)
> 
> featuring author!Furihata and composer!Akashi

Kōki had fallen asleep writing again.

Seijūrō’s lip curved, readying to launch accusations in his direction—he would hurt his neck, the papers beneath him would be screwed up and drooled on so it would just mean _more_ work in the end, work where he ignored Seijūrō in lieu of grumbling about an inability to write. What stopped him were the dark circles under his eyes.

Seijūrō wasn’t in much better shape himself, after sleeping only six hours in the past forty-eight. Both having deadlines in the same week had led to a strain in their relationship, which could, _possibly_ —if he allowed such petty things to get in the way—make him angrier than he needed to be. Kōki didn’t need someone loudly caring about him. If anything, it made him more stubborn. What he needed was someone caring for him on the side-lines and making small gestures. Although Seijūrō had far from perfected that, Kōki was well on his way. It seemed all he needed to do was _think_ that he was thirsty or needed some caffeine and he’d look up from the scores he was working on to see that Kōki had already deposited something on the only tidy portion of his desk and was already back to work. He only had to look up and shiver slightly and Kōki would throw a blanket in his direction or turn off the fan as needed.

In all honesty, he didn’t know how Kōki did it, but he did enjoy the feeling of warmth and security and love that surrounded those actions.

He tugged gently on Kōki’s hair before squeezing his shoulder, and Kōki pulled away, still asleep. He shook his shoulder, and Kōki whined.

Slapping him would work. But that would be cruel. He could… bite him? Kōki had done it enough times to him, but in a completely different situation. Or he could carry him?

His job didn’t allow much time for working out, except for a run in the mornings, and he knew his strength wasn’t what it used to be. But the door to their bedroom wasn’t _too_ far, just a few metres down the hall. Even if Kōki had grown to be a little—just a _little_ , about two centimetres—taller and probably heavier. He could do it. He was Akashi Seijūrō.

One arm pulled Kōki closer so his head was nestled on Seijūrō’s shoulder, the other went under his knees, and he gently hoisted him up. It wasn’t too bad. If he didn’t look at his shoulders and wonder whether they really _were_ coming out of the sockets. Keeping balance was a little difficult; he swayed back, wondering whether he would topple over with Kōki on him (which would lead to so much teasing). It was almost too difficult to take a step forward, his weight-bearing leg actually trembled, but he took a breath when he finally did. Just a few metres more.

A couple steps later (and a couple of breaks later) Kōki’s arms wound around his neck and a kiss was placed against his jaw. Seijūrō let his knees go and held onto his waist instead as Kōki scrabbled to keep his balance. “If you can do that you can walk.”

Kōki blinked at him. “But I like you carrying me.” Seijūrō shook his head. “Am I too heavy for you? Is this because I’m taller than you now?”

“We’re the same height,” he countered tersely.

“Sei—”

“To bed. You’re tired.”

“I can carry you,” he said with a smile.

It was true that he had found himself in a bed when he was sure that beforehand he’d been dozing off at his desk several times. He’d just assumed that he’d walked to bed and tucked himself in whilst unconscious. “You couldn’t—” Kōki swept his legs from under him and caught him up. “Kōki!” he exclaimed, struggling, though Kōki didn’t show any difficulty in keeping him suspended.

Well that was a little embarrassing, especially when Kōki easily started walking down the hall. “I do find time to work out, you know.” A final struggle had him drop in an ungainly way onto the bed and Kōki looking uncertainly down at him before being pulled down. “Maybe we should work out together,” he added, before yawning and curling up against Seijūrō’s chest.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Seijūrō grumbled. He already knew that he’d be working out, but he’d be damned if he allowed himself more humiliation.


	111. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for breedafool a couple of weeks ago after au discussions
> 
> a sequel may be in the works but probably in like a decade

Seeing an ex-boyfriend in the best of circumstances was awkward.

In the circumstances in which the way they had broken up was even more so—neither _really_ explaining the reason for the split, when the last time Kōki had seen Akashi the mask had slipped and he’d been shouting at him to _leave_ , if that was what he really wanted. It hadn’t been, but in the end Akashi had been the one to storm out, an official break-up _text_ , of all things, being sent a couple of hours later.

He tried to tell Coach not to send him with Kuroko, though he was sure Kuroko was glaring at him for his cowardice. It didn’t work, and before long he was cowering behind Kuroko, the tenseness in the atmosphere enough to turn him to an early grave. He should have given up on basketball for his third year and focussed on his studies. It wasn’t like he was off the bench for more than a couple of games. That was the bottom line; he, as a player, as _anything_ , was totally expendable.

“Why is it that the one who called us together is late?” someone grumbled. Aomine? Kise? He wasn’t paying enough attention to determine. Kōki was meditating through it, trying to calm his heart from flitting out of his chest and landing at his feet. Maybe, if he hid really well behind Kuroko, Akashi wouldn’t notice?

“…you know what he’s like.”

They were all staring at him. Of course they were, they _knew_ who he was. He hadn’t told his Seirin teammates of his former relationship with Akashi, but the Miracles knew everything. Probably more than Kōki himself as to why they broke up.

“Kuroko, I don’t think I can…” He trailed off as Kuroko blanked him and instead looked up the steps where they were situated.

“Ah… sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”

It was a familiar voice, achingly familiar, and prompted all sorts of images and wistful sensations in an uninhibited flurry. The beginning of their relationship a few months into Akashi’s first year at Teikō and Kōki’s third, their first kiss, a nervous peck that Akashi bestowed upon him (and Kōki couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe until Akashi said his name— _Kōki-senpai? Are you well?_ —and shocked him out of his reverie). The warmth of his fingers fitting between Kōki’s and the contrast now with how empty his hand felt, his soft hair tickling Kōki’s neck as he slept with his head resting on his shoulder, Akashi encouraging him, Akashi saying ‘ _I love you_ ’ as if it was the only truth that mattered in the world, as if everything was theirs.

But it was so _cold_ in contrast to how he’d heard it time and time again. It didn’t take Kōki turning round, meeting Akashi’s eyes for the smallest second to realise that something was wrong. Even without the physical sign of his golden eye, so odd in comparison to the red from before, he would have known that Akashi had finally given in to the brokenness of his mind.

“I’m happy to see you again. The fact that we’re all gathered here is very touching. However…” Coldly, he looked at Kōki.

“Seijūrō…”

“There is someone here who shouldn’t be here,” he interrupted. “I wish to only talk to my comrades. Sorry but, can you leave?”

He was being regarded as if he was no more than a stranger who decided to impede on the reunion of old friends. For the first time since he’d met and fell head-over-heels for the boy, he understood the reason for the almost fearful way some spoke of him. He had assumed it was due to his class and high manners being imposing to some, but _this_ … this was different. Akashi was nothing like he’d once been.

His legs trembled, he wanted to back away, wanted nothing more than to obey him, but he was unable to move under Akashi’s gaze.

A hand clapped on his shoulder and he almost jumped a metre in the air. “Come on, that’s cold. Don’t leave senpai out of the loop.”

Large hand, slightly accented Japanese. “Kagami!” he exclaimed, spinning to look at him “You’re late! Where have you been?”

“We’ll catch up later.” He looked up at Akashi in a critical way. “So… you’re Akashi. Glad to meet you.”

His hand was still heavy on Kōki’s shoulder, grounding him when he wasn’t sure whether he would go floating off, that _this_ was all a horrific dream, that the tangible pain from brokenness emanating from Akashi was a figment of his imagination or a projection of his own pain from having left behind the person he loved.

“Shintarō, may I borrow your scissors?” After a brief reluctance, he handed them over, and his hand twitched at their absence. “You’re Kagami-kun, I assume?” he asked. Closer now. Kōki’s body prickled.

The fear wasn’t without foundation. Kagami nodded, his hand still gripping Kōki’s shoulder, and that was the only indication Kōki had that he was actually nervous. Akashi watched their point of contact, mismatched eyes under a long fringe, before lunging forwards with the scissors pointing out like a spear.

Kōki’s stomach dropped as he jumped back from Akashi’s range—Kagami managed to dodge but there was _no_ way Kōki could hope for the same reflexes. He looked at Kōki for a moment, his eyes burning with intensity and Kōki noted that it wasn’t just the eyes that were different, he was taller now, his muscles were more developed, but he looked more tired and pale. Kōki wanted to ask what was wrong, but…

He watched as Akashi cut his fringe. “In this world, winning is everything. Winners are validated whilst losers are denied. Until now, I’ve never lost at anything and I won’t in the future. If you oppose me… I’ll kill you.”

“S-Sei?” he asked weakly. Vision tunnelling, he saw only Akashi’s eyes, wide and piercing.

“I’ll kill you,” he repeated. “No matter who you are.”

That couldn’t be what he really thought. It couldn’t.

It wasn’t Akashi looking at him in such a way. It was _parts_ of him, the parts that he’d desperately held in check, refusing any help to do so. It was the parts that Kōki had held tightly, burying his face in soft hair that smelled of strawberries as the fears he held spilled past his lips almost too quickly to track.

He’d seen Akashi at his worst and only loved him more for it, but he had never seen him in _this_ state before.


	112. AkaFuri

Seijūrō’s smile was fixed.

Kōki  _did_  notice, partially, in passing, but didn’t comment. He always had a lot of things on his mind, after all, and short quiet spells were rather common. There was an eighty per-cent chance that he still hadn’t found a way to tell his father that he was dating someone wholly beneath his status  _and_  the same gender, and a fairly decent chance that he was being pushed to choose a wife.

He always talked about his worries in his sleep, though rarely in wakefulness.

Kōki came to a halt to eye Seijūrō, still on the other side of the ice skating rink holding onto the rail and hid a smirk behind his hand.  _Finally_ , something he wasn’t naturally an expert in. Gloating to his face wouldn’t help matters, but he couldn’t resist adding a little spin as he made his way back, once he knew Seijūrō’s eyes were on him.

“I just haven’t done it in a while, I need to get reaccustomed—”

“You don’t know how to skate, do you?” He must be flustered, ‘reaccustomed’ wasn’t even a  _word_ , Kōki was sure.

“I-I need to get… reacquainted with—” He broke off when Kōki took his hand and squeezed it until he let go of the railing. “Fine. I don’t know how to skate.” His expression went damnably haughty and Kōki ignored the next thing he said, probably something disparaging about the crowd and how Kōki should have allowed him to hire out the rink for a private skate.

“Everyone starts somewhere.” There was a chance, when Seijūrō glowered at him, that he’d interrupted him mid-sentence.

“My allowance allows me at least to hire it out,” he continued, speaking faster when Kōki went behind him to hold onto his waist. His blush reached his ears, Kōki noted with a warm feeling in his chest which he was sure would melt the ice. “And I’m more comfortable with using it now that my father is having me work for hi—” He stopped mid-word when Kōki kissed his neck.

“You promised that I could pay for this one.”

“Next time, then.”

“I don’t know. You might not pick it up, in all honesty.”

He tried to twist on the spot and almost lost his balance. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Some people don’t.”

His hands clenched into fists. “I will,” he vowed in a low voice, and Kōki stopped himself from doing a victory dance. He shouldn’t be so pleased that it had been so easy to manipulate Seijūrō into learning how to skate, but it was  _romantic_ , and one of his guilty pleasures as his favourite romantic cliché.

He skated forwards, pushing Seijūrō in front of him and for a moment was ready to land a thousand curses on him when he seemed fine, but when he suddenly lost his balance and bent forwards, he was ready for the curses to land on  _himself_. He hadn’t thought about the compromising position they would be in with his ass pressed against his crotch, and had to firmly think about  _everything_  else to not clutch him closer and say  _to_ hell _with ice skating there’s a hotel not far from here_.

He may have been suffering a little from sexual frustration. After all, it was  _Seijūrō_ he was dating, and even after two years they hadn’t gone much further than kissing.

“Straighten your back,” he said in a slightly high-pitched voice, and Seijūrō slowly obeyed as Kōki breathed a sigh of relief. Although he couldn’t be entirely sure, he could have sworn he saw the hints of a smirk when he did so.

He was starting to believe that Seijūrō was pretending to not be able to skate, and to test the hypothesis let him go and shoved him forwards a few metres, regretting it less than a second later when Seijūrō crumpled to the ground. “Kōki!” he exclaimed, and Kōki got to his knees beside him.

“I’m sorry!”

“Why did you  _do_  that?”

_I thought you were pretending to seduce me_ , he thought, feeling his face heat up. No way could he say  _that_.

“I thought you were ready. I suppose I’ve gotten used to doing everything faster,” he lied, and Seijūrō glared at him in disbelief. “Fine! I thought you were pretending. It’s more incredible that there’s something you  _can’t_  do.”

“I’m allowed to be fallible, aren’t I?”

He really was irritated. Kōki fiddled with his sleeve and said nothing, but nodded.

“Help me up.” Kōki did as he asked. “Am I? Or do you expect me to be flawless?”

Kōki shivered from the iciness in Seijūrō’s voice and grasped his hands. “No.” Seijūrō’s eyes narrowed at his decisive tone. Trying to detect sarcasm? “I don’t expect you to be perfect. Because… you aren’t. I’ve seen proof of that before.”

The defensiveness of his posture—the tensed shoulders and jaw, the evasive way he turned his body—relaxed, before he slowly smiled. “Then help me better myself. Teach me how to master this.” Kōki took hold of his waist again.

“This shouldn’t really be a priority, you know. Your petulance, maybe…”

“I’m not petulant,” he interrupted, and Kōki kissed the nape of his neck and pushed him forwards again to distract him.


	113. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insp http://mayuzumichiihiro.tumblr.com/post/125410196373/today-i-fucked-up-by-calling-a-locksmith-when

The secretary was just doing her job. It was fine, it was necessary, it was expected, it was what she was paid to do, but the  _tappatap_ of the keyboard was drifting through the open door and grating on every nerve Seijūrō owned.

And why was the door open? Because his father had read somewhere that employees felt more involved and therefore became more productive if there wasn’t such an obvious barrier between ‘employer’ and ‘employee’ and wanted to test the effects. Why couldn’t he get up to close it? Because his father had his spies everywhere, and he couldn’t move too far away from the phone when negotiating the most important contract of the month.

Deconstructing everything into precise questions always helped him compartmentalise issues in a linear way before he could come at the issue at various angles. His first angle was rather… head-on. “We hope to invest, Sakamichi-san,” was said simultaneously to a sofa cushion being thrown to the door, but only wedging it open even more as everyone on the floor looked up in confusion. His mouth ran on quicker as he became more antsy at the incessant tapping (why was her keyboard so much louder than the others?) until he had to stop to catch his breath, throwing another couple of things in the hopes of forcing it shut. The floor blanked him at this point–they were aware of his slight eccentricities, though they didn’t know the reason for the majority.

The tapping wouldn’t stop. Didn’t she slack off at all? His mouth was still running, something about revenue and projections for the next year, and he raised his voice, he thought, though his vision whited out and ringing filled his ears as he approached the door to kick the debris out of the way and slam it shut. The tapping ceased, and the echoing inside his head faded out as he shut his eyes.

“Akashi-san? I have the projections for the next three years if you wish to see them.”

“I’ll need to,” he said, fighting the weariness in his voice. He’d been here too long, and with the door open noise drifted in constantly, idle gossip and shrill laughs and that tapping, he was becoming more and more crowded. “An answer will be ready by the end of the week,” he continued, his voice gaining strength to a comfortable level. This was better. He had a good workplace, better than he could have hoped, but sometimes it was too much. That was the reason he’d made his office soundproof.

Well that, and one other reason. Apparently one right to being a CEO’s boyfriend was that one could enter unannounced, say in no uncertain terms something much too inappropriate for a workplace and continue by performing that act which had been described.

Worth it, but also much too dangerous. Seijūrō didn’t want anyone else seeing either of them like that (Kōki because of the power he now somehow exuded and Seijūrō because he had built up a certain image, even a persona, for his workplace and only rarely brought it into his romantic and sex life). Working at a desk he’d only a couple of hours ago been bent over was difficult enough without his employees aware of his extra-curricular activities.

He hung up the phone and sat at his desk, eyeing the pile of paperwork he still had to get through before the end of the week. Kōki had been trying to insist that he delegate, but this was his company, he’d earned it, and even the smallest detail he wanted perfected.

Still, it was warm, it was so quiet, and he was just so tired.

He woke hours later with a violent jolt which sent his iPad flying off the table and probably smashing onto the floor and checked his phone quickly to make sure he hadn’t missed an important message or call. Nothing, although it was half-six and therefore he was perfectly within his right to leave off and find more worthwhile comfort in Kōki’s arms. Maybe he could come in a bit late tomorrow, or take the day off and catch up on the work when Kōki was out of town. The idea was tempting and he knew it would please Kōki, proven when he responded to a probing question sent by text exuberantly and immediately.

_To: Furihata Kōki  
Should you not be working?_

He could see Kōki’s smile on the other side of the screen, the way he would hunch over his phone no matter how many times Seijūrō insisted he straighten his back.

_From: Furihata Kōki  
Shut up I’m leaving soon_

It was decided, then. He threw his coat over his shoulders, checking the pockets for his keys though the slightly musical jangle had already revealed their location. Wrenching the door open, he started a brisk walk to the other side of the room.

“Akashi-san?”

Seijūrō jumped and whipped back, to see that the secretary was still there, straightening some files. “You haven’t left?”

“No. I wanted to be sure that was all you wanted of me today.”

She was a good worker. He checked his watch–she’d stayed an hour and a half longer than she’d had to. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off?”

She’d been frowning curiously at him, but immediately started gathering her things. “Only if you’re sure!”

“Yes, yes,” he stuttered and steeled himself. It was harder to keep up the persona when he was still half asleep. “I’ll be doing the same.” He needed… something. To keep the hierarchy between them as it should be. “Please use the time to remove the false nails. They’re not professional.”

She paled slightly and nodded, standing awkwardly until Seijūrō left.

It wasn’t the way his father would have wanted–but small pieces of kindness helped, in Seijūrō’s own experience, not to mention that Kōki got tetchy if he thought Seijūrō was being unfair. Not that days off were something that his father approved of in general, but then again he’d never had anyone he’d want to spend a quiet day with.

His head was spinning with groggy fatigue when he approached his car, digging the fob out and pressing the button. Forgetting to listen for the click which signalled the opening, he tried to open it and almost fell against the side as it refused to budge. Attacking the button a few more times to no avail, he finished by half lying on the roof and groaning against the metal. He’d have to call Kōki; there was no other way. He’d say something disparaging about his car and how it wasn’t worth what he’d spent on it, proudly patting his own hardy Volkswagen which had lasted him almost a decade with only a couple of small hiccups, before smiling in that teasing way he had and stepping into his arms.

Years ago he would have assumed that knowing someone inside and out would only lead to a boring relationship, but now he couldn’t imagine something more perfect than the routine they had and the lack of secrecy.

Kōki was speed-dial 1, and he picked up within the first couple of rings.

“I can’t get in my car,” he said, getting straight to the point. He could almost hear Kōki’s eyebrows raising.

“Want me to pick you up? I’m just leaving work now.”

Nothing was better than his constancy. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be right there.” He clicked off and Seijūrō closed his eyes as he leant against the car. It only took a few minutes–Kōki worked a couple of blocks away–and immediately Kōki gave him an odd look as he pulled up before getting out. “You fell asleep at your desk, didn’t you?” he asked, equal parts concern and amusement in his voice.

“No!” Seijūrō insisted loudly. Kōki cocked an eyebrow. “I–I… that is, a little, but–”

“I told you that you needed a break.”

“How did you know?”

Reaching up, Kōki combed his fingers through Seijūrō’s hair. “You always sleep on the same side and always wake up with the same hairstyle, Sei.” Seijūrō leant into his lingering touch before Kōki pulled his hand away quickly and cleared his throat. “What happened with the car, then?” he asked loudly.

Seijūrō could feel his cheeks burning, half due to the intimate touch he had just received and half because of Kōki’s reaction. Part of him urged to chase the reaction and bestow his own touch, watch as Kōki’s eyes darkened even as he bashfully looked away. Maybe he should be more domineering in their relationship, bring Kōki to his knees as often as he brought Seijūrō to his.

Kōki was still looking at him expectantly, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember the question, when all he could think of was working at Kōki until he was undone, no matter about the cleaning staff who would be arriving in the next hour. “What?”

“What happened with the car?”

“It won’t open,” he said, forcing himself to forget his urges and press the fob in explanation.

“So you locked your keys in there?”

Seijūrō eyed him. “No.” That would have really been idiotic; what if Kōki had to stay later at work? He’d be locked outside and only able to scavenge for food in the offices like a fox.

Kōki was gaping at him with wide eyes.

“What?” He started to protest when Kōki went into his pocket to take out his keys, but the words froze in his mouth as he silently slotted the key into the door, turned it, and let the door swing open.

Seijūrō stared at the door, and then turned to Kōki, who was once again looking at him with a strange mixture of amusement and concern. “Oh.”

A snort of laughter broke past the quiet facade, and Kōki had to grab onto his arm even as he continued laughing to halt him. “I’m still driving you… seriously you need to take a break… how long would you have waited here if I couldn’t get to you…?”

“Shut up, Kōki,” Seijūrō muttered, and Kōki obeyed by muffling himself against Seijūrō’s shoulder, holding him tightly. “I would have called a taxi.” His face hidden from Kōki’s vantage point, he didn’t halt his smile at the ridiculous situation. “And I decided to take the next couple of days off anyway.”

Kōki kissed his cheek lightly before stepping back. “Good. You need to rest.”

Like in most things, he was right. But he still pulled Kōki closer again instead of getting into the car, drawing strength from his solidity and the affectionate way he leant against him.


	114. AkaFuri

“Something’s going to jump out, Sei, I can feel it.”

Kōki clung to his boyfriend’s arm and hid his face until Seijūrō shook him off, his face pale. “You’re not getting away with this, Kōki; if I’m watching it then you are too.”

There was a small tremble in his voice, but Kōki couldn’t drag his attention from the screen long enough to tease him about it. It was… these people were so  _stupid_ , why would anyone think that a cabin in the middle of the woods would be a good place to stay the night? Ghosts upon demons upon ghouls, there was no escaping them.

A door swung open to reveal the main character’s girlfriend, blood seeping from countless lacerations and body contorted into impossible shapes, and Seijūrō jumped when Kōki’s nails dug into his arm.

“Idiots,” he said. Then again,  _he_  was an idiot for sitting through this. When he was alone. With his boyfriend. So instead, he grabbed hold of Seijūrō’s hair and crashed their lips together, trying to drown out the bloodcurdling screeches from possessed people with Seijūrō’s contented sighs. The sound of bones breaking and splintering filled the air, he shivered before tugging on Seijūrō’s hair to coax out any sound he could to focus on instead.

A door creaked open, and Kōki inwardly growled about the unnecessary gore, before thinking that the sound  _wasn’t_  coming from the TV, and he and Kuroko didn’t have surround sound. _Shit_. The demons had come out of the TV. The countless nightmares from when he was a child were coming true.

He looked over his shoulder and saw a pale blue ghost, who started when he screamed and dove around Seijūrō to shield himself from the monster (with his boyfriend; he would pay for that) before seeing that it was Kuroko.

“O-oh,” he shivered. “Sorry,” came out as a squeak before he laughed breathlessly. “I thought you were going to eat my bones.”

“Shall I turn it off?” Seijūrō asked, once Kuroko had eyed them and disappeared up the stairs.

Kōki jumped at another scream and hid his face in Seijūrō’s neck. “Yes! Yes, yes, I don’t know why… whose idea was it?”


	115. MayuFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merpeople au requested by genderqueerfuri on tumblr

Kōki had never been so far away from his shoal. He’d  _wanted_  to, for years looked out from the precipice of the cliffs as his family picked through the coral reefs for food, leant out to peer into the darkness beneath him, felt it pull at his fins and hair, and one day he couldn’t resist any longer, venturing into what would have been unknown but he hoped wouldn’t be so for long.

He left the massive underwater city behind without a word and didn’t see a soul for days.

He regretted it when he did, though. The shark type approached him and showed sharp teeth when he talked, his tail and hair and eyes such a strange grey when he was used to the multi-coloured merpeople in his city, from the angel-fish types that reigned over them all, to the octopi who managed the craftsmanship, to his own, the mackerels, who were nothing but simple farmers. Sharks had been banished years and years ago for their own treachery before Kōki had been born.

“Wh-who are you?” he stuttered out, swimming back when the merman approached.

“Mayuzumi Chihiro,” he said in a recognisable accent. “You’re from Atlantis.”

“Y-you too?”

He nodded, swimming forwards again until Kōki was trapped against the wall of the cliff. “I haven’t seen anyone from Atlantis for years.”

The dim light reflected from his pale eyes and his sharp teeth, and Kōki’s heart flipped in his chest, though from fear or excitement he couldn’t tell.


	116. NijiFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pushing daisies au requested by ttauriell on tumblr

Every breath was catching in Shūzō’s throat as he stared down at the open casket, at the blank face of his childhood love. He’d seen enough corpses that it had no effect anymore, but this was _different_ , this was Kōki, the person he still thought about with aching fondness, and he was lying on the red fabric pale and dead.

His hand shook by his side and raised to hover above him as he tried to settle on where to touch. His gaze was pulled to Kōki’s lips, remembering how soft and warm they had been the last time they’d seen each other when they were barely teenagers.

He went to touch him, before his hand shot back to flatten his hair—only one minute to make the best impression he could to the one he still loved. And finally, reaching out and touching Kōki’s lower lip with his middle finger.

Kōki’s brow furrowed, before he gasped and his eyes flew open.


	117. MayuAka

A peasant wasn’t supposed to have a more regal appearance than the king dressed in such simple clothes, but somehow the man standing before Chihiro managed to exude all the power that Chihiro never had. He’d pretended for years that he didn’t care, but with his reputation on the line and Akashi’s hands fisting in his robes he wished he had the power to force Akashi to bend to his will and leave him alone finally. Akashi kissed his jaw, and all thoughts flooded out of his head, from any futile resistance to the unfamiliar surroundings.


	118. AkaFuri

The only thing Kōki could think as Seijūrō stood before him, a cocked gun in his hand, was how much he’d changed since his company had folded and the first time they met, and how much it suited him. “This is supposed to be a civilised discussion, Akashi-san,” Kōki said tersely, and Seijūrō eyed the people surrounding him, before placing the gun on the table before him with a confident smile. After all, they may have been in rival gangs, but they were first and foremost a married couple.


	119. AkaFuri

It was easy enough to pick his targets; Kōki could spy expensive clothes and haircuts from miles off, and sometimes even easier to tempt them into a false sense of security and entice them to give him their heart. Like this one, the red-haired beauty who accepted Kōki pressing his lips to theirs with no fight only a few minutes after they happened to meet (Kōki had singled them out as being abandoned by friends at a club that they were—quite obviously—disgusted by, but they fell into easy conversation with him, even offered to pay for some drinks, and were transfixed when Kōki leaned in).

It took only the smallest movements for Kōki to melt into it more than he’d planned, as they immediately trapped his hands as much as his mind, and kissed him over and over until he was sure his heart would burst out of his chest.


	120. AkaFuri

Kōki gripped hold of his whining Eevee, glaring angrily at the boy in front of him, who was doing nothing more than observing his own Charmander. For several years, ever since he’d first gotten the tiny runt and Akashi had immediately chosen the Charmander he was currently crouching beside, he’d been terrified of him. How could anyone normal want a fire Pokemon, who’d first been seen terrorising the others? And in the three years since they’d received their Pokemon, he’d hardly gotten better.

“I wish you would control your Charmander, Akashi-san,” Kōki said.

Akashi looked at him haughtily, even though Kōki was older (by almost two months). “Dante is perfectly fine. Maybe you should teach your Eevee to defend herself.”

‘Dante’ sneezed, shooting a ball of fire way too close to Kōki for comfort. “Cookie isn’t a fighter! She’s a pet!” Kōki shuddered; he hated the thought of pitting Pokemon against each other. Cookie would never fight another Pokemon if Kōki had anything to say about it. She would be protected and loved.

He distracted her with a treat as he inspected her tail. Thankfully no blood, and when he felt for any heat or bumps there were none. “Well, she’s fine,” he acquiesced.

Akashi stared at him with the red and yellow eyes that Kōki could swear had haunted his dreams since he’d first seen them. Cookie growled at him, showing very herbivore-like teeth, and hid in Kōki’s arms when the Charmander growled back. “Aren’t you going to do something?” he asked Akashi.

Turned out, when he was worried about his Eevee, he could be brave. He stood up, and did his best to stare Akashi down, although a lump formed in his throat and his palms were sweating. “Pokemon fight. It’s perfectly natural for one to assert dominance.”

“It’s not,” Kōki insisted, stamping his foot.

Akashi ignored him and left, Dante waddling after him, and Cookie made one last attempt at a growl. “Good girl,” Kōki said, ruffling her ears.


	121. NijiAka

It took a few weeks of Shūzō ignoring Akashi before he finally manned up (or grew up—he was pretty sure Momoi would find offense with his choice of words) and sat on the bench next to him where he was watching the others play. It might have been his longing expression and the way he cast looks of disgust at his broken ankle, or maybe something about how kind he’d been in teaching Midorima’s little sister how to shoot, but something about the past couple of days made him willing to lose face and be the first to talk to the other.

“What’s up?” he said casually as he sat down, and Akashi looked at him as if he’d flown over instead of just walked normally as he had.

“’What’s up?’” he repeated.

“Y-yeah. It’s a way of asking—”

“I know what it means. I’m just confused as to why, after four years of not saying a word to each other, you decide to lead with _that_.” His snapping tone wasn’t pulling any punches, and Shūzō shrugged, not trusting himself to say anything for a while and quite aware that Akashi wasn’t much more than injured prey right now if he decided to offload everything.

“It’s an invitation to speak. Whether meaningfully or not.”

It was probably a hyperbole to say that Akashi looked like an avenging angel, but he couldn’t come up with any other appropriate simile or metaphor. Maybe like a volcano about to erupt, or the moments when the sea pulled back to allow the onslaught of a tsunami.

He closed his eyes, touching just under his left eye, and when they reopened he was human again. “Then I suppose I should reply with what is customary. ‘Nothing much’.”

“I’m just trying to restart communications. We haven’t spoken since before I left.” And that had been the last image he’d had of him, when he hadn’t planned the way Akashi had looked at him or how Shūzō had leaned in to press the shortest kiss to his lips, because there was no  _other_  way he could think of communicating everything Akashi had meant to him and how much he wanted to stay by his side, and how when he’d glanced over his shoulder Akashi was touching his bottom lip with a wondering look on his face.

He just looked downright miserable now, and Shūzō slowly reached over to ruffle his hair as Akashi frowned in confusion. He’d not been blind, after all, he’d seen how Akashi would glower when he did that to someone else, even in the recent weeks. He felt kind of ridiculous, ruffling the boy’s hair when he was, in all ways but his physical age, more mature, together and adult than he ever would.

“Are you trying to cheer me up?” Akashi asked.

“A-a little.”

“Well, stop it.” Shūzō snatched his hand back, getting a whiff of coconut which pulled him right back to the overnight training camps when, in his sleep, Akashi would always curl up a little closer.

“I never did it before because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop,” he admitted outright. Akashi didn’t respond. “And that it would lead to me confessing, which I never thought was a good idea. I was worried about how your family would react.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

If he was ignorant, then Akashi was completely clueless. “I’m… confessing. Properly this time.” Everything was silent, at least to Shūzō, before he reached as deep as he could for every last morsel of courage to lay his heart out like an idiot. “I never stopped thinking about you in the time you were gone, and since the moment I left I wanted to be with you again. Whether in a… romantic sense or not. In the simplest of phrases, I want to spend my life with you.” Akashi stared. “Romantic or… not,” he added. All things considered, a weak ending.

“What?”

“I… didn’t actually plan to confess today,” Shūzō admitted.

“Confess? That was a real confession?”

“Yes?”

“You meant it?”

“’Meant’? Of course I did.”

Akashi picked up his crutch and Shūzō’s heart sank as he stood up. “Then say it again tomorrow in no uncertain terms,” he… ordered, as far as Shūzō could tell. And ‘no uncertain terms’? What on earth was that supposed to mean; was he to show up with an engagement ring?

His train of thought cut off when Akashi kissed his cheek, and was too speechless to protest when he departed.


	122. AkaFuri

“You want me to do what?”

Akashi almost growled in frustration, at which Kōki would have been terrified, had Akashi not been shifting so uncomfortably that his compassionate side was acting up. “Teach me how to dance. I saw you a while back and you have skill that I do not possess.”

“Teach you… how to dance.”

Kōki didn’t know in which parallel universe he’d woken up, where apparently  _Akashi_  could learn something from him, but he acquiesced. Akashi inclined his head with a light colour on his cheeks, and might have thanked him, but Kōki was too busy listening to pulse thundering through his ears like crashing waves. It couldn’t be a coincidence that his crush just  _asked_  him to teach him to dance. Someone of a higher power must have decided that they needed proximity for their relationship to work rather than Kōki pining after an unreachable shadow.

“Why?”

“I want to… impress someone,” he answered evasively.

This was masochism. Painful, sick masochism, but he ignored it the best he could. Helping him was nobler, and love was selfless. Forcing a smile, he stepped closer. “Would you like to start right away?”


	123. MayuAka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by shippaddict on tumblr

It shouldn’t have distracted Seijūrō to the extent it did. The thoughts running through his head were wild and untameable, nothing that he could force away as he usually did. After all, even if the _other_ one had seen nothing wrong with falling in love, _he_ was perfectly aware that it was a waste of time, much better spent adding to the Akashi empire or to his own accomplishments.

It hadn’t even bothered him when he and Chihiro had first walked in and he’d seen the double bed. Chihiro had fumed, launching biting accusations to the club and its inability to book decent rooms, and then about the hotel and its inability to follow simple instructions, as Seijūrō only half listened and mutely unpacked.

Even being perfectly (painfully, sometimes) aware of his attraction to Chihiro, the fact that they’d be sharing didn’t faze him. He was in perfect control at all times, _nothing_ would compromise that.

Except he wasn’t sure any more. Somehow, during the night, Chihiro had worked his way to Seijūrō’s side of the bed and had his arm casually placed over Seijūrō’s waist. He’d gone through all his five stages of panic (first, shooting a death glare, which was not effective against Chihiro at the best of times, least of all when he was fast asleep. Second, breathing and heart rate slowly picking up and gaining in speed like a train rushing towards him. Third, warmth cloaked him, not the pleasant warmth that accompanied the weight of Chihiro’s arm but burning as if he only had to look at his skin to see fire cloaking it. Fourth, he slowly brought his heart and breathing back to normal, though every shift and sigh Chihiro gave almost pushed him over the brink again. Fifth, the process of calming down worked almost _too_ well, his heart and breathing so slow that he felt like he was on the verge of ceasing to exist and disappearing from mind and matter). Now it was just strings of electricity around his entire body, wanting nothing more than to wake Chihiro and persuade him into _doing_ something about the maddening attraction between them.

Unless it was one-sided, in which case he’d look like a fool. Maybe he was nothing special to Chihiro, just a captain against whom he couldn’t be bothered to fight.

Chihiro shifted again, and just as the electric sparks shooting up his spine were becoming too much to control, Seijūrō twisted away from him, hitting him in the chest to push him back. The covers were wrenched off Seijūrō and he shivered at the sudden wave of cool air as Chihiro looked at him and blinked.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Seijūrō was startled, both by the expletive and by his (as far as Seijūrō could tell—though his humour was sarcastic and dry enough that he couldn’t always) genuine confusion. He didn’t wait for Seijūrō to answer, his eyes shutting again before Seijūrō hit him harder.

“What?” he yelped. Seijūrō stared at him.

“You stole the blankets.”

“You were the one who pushed me away from your side of the bed so that’s your fault.”

Did he _delight_ in confusing every inch of Seijūrō? “My side. Ergo, you shouldn’t be on it,” he finally hissed, wondering if Chihiro had dropped off again.

“Forgive me for thinking that something was going to happen. You haven’t exactly been giving me mixed signals up to tonight.”

He must still be sleeping. The only other possibility… no, he couldn’t contemplate it. He didn’t _need_ this confusion and uncertainty. Still… “Are you asleep?”

“Maybe,” Chihiro said, and Seijūrō could have sworn there was humour in his usually blank voice. He yanked some of the covers back and sank under them, half expecting it when a few minutes later Chihiro edged closer and the sparks started up again at the simple contact between his hand and Seijūrō’s arm.


	124. AkaFuri

“Are you sure?”

Seijūrō eyed Kōki, before batting his shaking hands away from his mess of a tie. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Because I honestly don’t mind. It’s a big thing, you know, and there are a lot of hopes that you’re going to dash, you’re supposed to get married to some heiress and—”

Seijūrō put a hand over his mouth, halting his words. “And produce an heir, I know, you’ve said this already.” Kōki pushed his hand away, darting a look to the chauffeured car waiting in the driveway. “You’ve said it more than my father ever did. I’m starting to think that you’re going to change your mind.”

Kōki stepped on his foot. “Don’t even joke about that—in fact, stop joking altogether.”

“Then stop worrying. My father will have no real objections to our relationship.”

Kōki couldn’t imagine that he was telling the truth, but ignored the fact that he was trying to sort out his own tie to grab hold of his hands and refuse to let go. “I know I should be the one supporting you but I’m scared.”

Seijūrō squeezed his hands before pulling him closer, and Kōki let himself lean heavily into him, drawing any strength he could from the familiarity. The only respite would be that it was a private dinner, so no crowds, no one mistaking him for one of the servants or slighted families glaring and plotting his death behind his back. “Can’t we elope?” he mumbled into Seijūrō’s shoulder.

Seijūrō froze, and Kōki stepped back quickly. “Did you just—?”

“No!” Kōki insisted, because although he’d  _wanted_  to propose, of course he did, he hadn’t wanted it to be thrown out in such a careless manner, he wanted it to be planned as meticulously as Seijūrō could ever have done it, he wanted Seijūrō to be blown into another continent with just how romantic it was, to be reeling for days afterwards. He wanted candles and violins, he wanted a _speech_  prepared. And he wanted it after this mess of revealing their relationship to everyone they’d kept quiet about it to to be _over._  That was why it was taking so long after he’d decided to take the leap.

Slow leap. More baby steps towards a long, slow glide.

“But you just—”

“We should leave,” Kōki announced loudly, making a final wild stab at the tie and getting it mostly right, though his cheeks burnt. “We don’t want to be late, that would be the final nail in the coffin, and I can… practically hear it. We should go.” His mouth ran on at top speed as he darted out of the door.


	125. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by cerberosthehellguard on tumblr

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Kōki muttered, hugging the pillow to his chest and glowering as Seijūrō checked the angle of the camera. A confident, self-satisfied smirk (probably designed to make him flustered, but it just bothered him) was on his face, and Kōki threw a couple of cushions for good measure.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, finally satisfied with the set-up and kneeling next to Kōki, who picked at the weave of the sheets as the heat reached his face. Great, he was on camera and he was blushing like an idiot. Maybe Seijūrō should have just used hidden cameras.

“No,” he admitted as Seijūrō kissed his neck. “I suppose it’ll be good to have something to watch when you’re away.” He darted a look at the camera. He felt like it was _watching_ him. Which it… was. In a sense. Seijūrō gripped at him when he shivered, probably mistaking it for arousal and his teeth sank into Kōki’s shoulder. “Is that really necessary?” he muttered, though he still tightened his arms around Seijūrō’s neck.

It was almost possible to forget the camera, with its blinking red light that reminded Kōki of a watching eye and the lense reflecting the light from outside, he could almost go through with it when Seijūrō reached for his waistband to pull it down—

“No, no, can’t do it,” he insisted, pushing Seijūrō back. “I’m getting stage fright. And we haven’t sorted out any storyline or anything. What is my character?”

“Your… your character?”

“Am I a rising star trying to get to the top of my profession by sleeping around? Do I not have the money to pay someone for a service?”

“What?” Seijūrō seemed bemused, but Kōki couldn’t stop himself from spilling out every anxiety he’d had since he first agreed to this.

“Or is this more of a forbidden love scenario? Could someone come walking through the door at any minute?”

Seijūrō darted a look to the door. “I think we locked it, Kōki.”

“Is this our last night together? I’m not good at acting, Sei.”

“I… I wasn’t expecting there to be roleplay. Would you rather there was?”

“No! No.” Kōki sighed when Seijūrō kissed his cheek. “I would never take sex seriously again if we roleplayed,” he continued once Seijūrō’s arms were tight around him. “I just feel out of control, and that would be fine on its own but…” He quickly gestured towards the still-waiting camera. “That as well as the camera is what scares me. If I mess up then it’ll be…immortalised—”

Seijūrō was visibly holding back a laugh even as Kōki glared. “We don’t have to film anything, Kōki, just say the word—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I-I want to, but I want to be in control.”

Seijūrō looked at him silently for a moment, as Kōki fought back any loud demands. He knew that Seijūrō would have to think about it before accepting; giving up control was always difficult for him, but finally he nodded.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, more out of nervousness than anything, and reached into the drawers below the bed to find the strips of fabric that were _usually_ used on himself (the perks of being more flexible than most were few and far between, in all honesty). Seijūrō backed up against the headboard obediently before letting Kōki bind his hands to it, watching him the entire time.

And although he _knew_ Seijūrō wasn’t judging him, that gaze was too burning. He bit his lip self-consciously before remembering the blindfold he’d bought back when they were first going out an evening during which he felt particularly wild, and consequently left in the far corner of the drawer out of mortal embarrassment. He rifled through it again, hopping off the bed to get a better look.

“What are you doing?” Seijūrō asked as he finally located the whisper of silk.

“Blindfolding you,” he said, trying to inject confidence into his voice. Seijūrō seemed to hardly be breathing as Kōki put the blindfold on him, and leant in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

This _was_ better, complete proof of Seijūrō’s trust in him, so he lowered his voice into almost a purr, just loud enough for the microphone to pick it up, and asked “Shall we get started?”

Seijūrō arched his back as Kōki placed a hand on his chest and a grin flashed across his face. “I’m ready when you are.”


	126. AkaFuri

Akashi was staring.

As in,  _staring_ , paintbrush dripping paint onto the floor. Right into Kōki’s eyes with terrifying intensity. Kōki shifted on the floor, attempting to meet his eyes defiantly before shivers ran down his spine. He couldn’t do it; he was about as intimidating as a rabbit, and Akashi’s stare was more that of a real predator. He tried to cast his eyes downwards, but he could still  _feel_  it, almost as if all the oxygen had left the room. He was forgetting how to breathe, wondering whether he’d mortally offended Akashi; why else would he be staring so hard? Probably plotting his demise. Probably trying to intimidate him, and it was working.

He didn’t even know why Akashi had decided to come; wasn’t painting up an old basketball court way below his league? But for some reason he was here, and…  _staring_.

Kōki couldn’t quite keep his eyes away, or on him and nervously looked at him and away in quick succession, until finally Mibuchi, who had been beside him (though Kōki had hardly noticed) jabbed him and whispered in his ear. Akashi jumped and finally looked elsewhere, freeing Kōki from everything but the uncomfortable feeling.

He did feel a little better when Akashi seemed to have realised, and his cheeks went a bright red, but it was kept in the forefront of his mind when their eyes kept on meeting accidentally, only able to push it back when Fukuda complained about how little painting he’d managed on the brick wall.


	127. AkaFuri

As far back as Kōki could remember, he could read expressions so well it was like a map of the person’s mind. It didn’t matter if they were naturally blank or seemed emotionless, he would be able to, maybe after a bit of observation, work them out. Kuroko had been a tough one; from the beginning he’d confused Kōki with his carefully blank expressions and dry humour, but he’d managed it in the end. Noticing how he softened when he looked at Kagami was like an achievement, as was the shock he easily read when he brought it up in the library.

But this was entirely different. As Akashi looked at the scoreboard and Kōki watched him, he couldn’t read any emotion whatsoever. It was madness; they were  _dating_ , he should be able to read Akashi like no one else, and he’d  _tried_ , he’d tried harder than anything he ever had before to no avail. Akashi divulged nothing he didn’t want to.

Which certainly made comforting him difficult. He couldn’t tell if Akashi was hurting because of the score, Seirin slightly ahead of Rakuzan, or just resigned that this was one team he couldn’t quite beat. He smiled when he shook Hyūga’s hand, but again was that hiding his true feelings or genuine compassionate happiness?

“Furi!” He jolted when Fukuda shook his shoulder and mirrored his wide smile. “C’mon, we won again! And you didn’t fall over on the court!” His hair was vigorously ruffled until Kōki managed to bat him away.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but at least it was true. He hadn’t been able to hold out long against Akashi, not now that he was hyperaware of his eyes sweeping over his body, not when Akashi had shown that his work ethic was better than Kōki’s, and had forced him to the ground before scoring as Kōki could only admire his form. Sure, he held out longer than the year before (Akashi just wasn’t as intimidating to him anymore), and scored a couple more times, but in the end the result was the same. He was so fatigued that he could barely stand, and was forced to retire. Next year it would be better; he would last the entire game and give Akashi a run for his money  _himself_ , rather than relying on Kagami to beat him. Then there would be no doubt that Akashi saw him as an equal.

He let Akashi leave with his teammates after exchanging a quick glance, and went to get changed himself before quickly making his way to where they’d planned to meet. The steps, of course. Kōki sometimes wondered whether Akashi was joking when he made such suggestions, even if he didn’t understand the concept. Akashi was there already, observing the crowds filing out from the top of the stairs, and his eyes locked on Kōki’s.

“What are you doing up there?” Kōki said. “Trying to be tall?” he added, and Akashi blinked before catching his smile.

“Waiting for you,” he answered. “You’re late.”

Kōki sighed. “My hair was a mess.”

They met in the middle of the steps and Kōki started to talk, stopping himself before he could complete a syllable. Small talk wasn’t what he wanted; he wanted to figure out what Akashi was _feeling_  when he looked at him so blankly.

-

“What is it?” Seijūrō asked, and Kōki chewed on his lower lip, fiddling with his hair the way he did when he was nervous or lying, even as he insisted it was nothing. “It’s something.”

“I… I need to talk to you.”

Seijūrō’s heart sank, and the doubts he’d had time and time again raised themselves. ‘ _He’s bored, you’re not what he wanted, he’ll get rid of you he’ll move on he doesn’t care you’re alone alone alone—_ ’ But  _no_ , that wasn’t true, Kōki was easy to read, his affection for Seijūrō shone through so strongly that he’d never been so certain of anything in his life. He put his head to one side, and Kōki evasively looked to the ground.

‘ _He’s guilty about something look at his body language read his eyes—_ ’

No, no, no, he  _wasn’t_ , he was bashful, but he still wanted to stay.

‘ _You should let me take over_ —’ Seijūrō saw a glint of gold in the corner of his eye and squashed the fear and betrayal as far down as it could be.

“About what?” he asked, once Kōki had finally met his eyes and watched him in baffling confusion.

“A-about how you’re feeling!” he almost shouted, and Seijūrō could have sworn half the crowds looked up to gawk at them, but Kōki was watching him so intently he didn’t even spare them a glance.

“Feeling?”

“A-are you sad about the loss? Do you accept it? Or are you going to fight? I can’t  _tell_  and I should be able to, I should be able to read you and understand what you’re thinking but I can’t and I…” the remaining words were muffled beyond recognition when he hid his face in his hands.

“Is that what you’re feeling guilty about?”

Kōki glared at him with a viciousness that surprised him. “See, even you can read me!”

“’Even’?” Seijūrō said weakly. “It’s not easy. It took time to figure you out. I worked at it because I wanted to.”

“And you think I don’t want to?” he was shouting again. “I want to know  _everything_  you’re thinking, I want to learn  _everything_  there is to know about you because I love every part of you, even the parts that scare me.”

He was breathing hard from the shouted confession (the first one, the  _first_  one), and even the one he pushed down in his head but still coerced from his chains was silent. “E-every part?” he asked, and it was the both of them that were asking.

‘ _Let me… let me out._ ’

The other one loved him too. He could feel the struggling as much as he could feel the strength of their affection together.

“Yes, every part,” Kōki said, quietly, before turning away. “It’s cold,” he said weakly.

“I love you too, Kōki.”

“Is that from every part?” he asked.

“You’re scared that if…  _he_  takes over again I won’t stay.”

“I’m sure there are people who can read you two better than I can,” he said, rubbing under his eyes. “And if your sense of duty isn’t keeping us together then I don’t know if we’ll last.”

It felt like the beginning of a break-up. “Kōki, I can promise you—” Kōki lifted a hand.

“I just need to think.”

Seijūrō swallowed against a lump in his throat and closed his eyes, bringing himself down to the area where he’d chained the other one, hoping to never release him. A gold eye watched him as he set to undoing the mental shackles.

-

It had been months since he’d been in control, felt the weather against his skin and the ground beneath his feet first hand. He curved his fingers, keeping his eyes closed as he slowly reached out with every sense, and slowly, as the bustle became defined and he could guess at the number within the crowds—70, maybe even more—he opened his eyes and met Kōki’s, who recoiled in shock.

“Kōki, don’t go!” he insisted, and Kōki froze with one foot on the step below him. “You said that you love every part of m—of  _us_ , and as much as you I want proof of that.”

“Proof?” Kōki’s eyes were wild, a lone tear was tracing down his reddened cheek—whether from the cold or the emotional outburst Seijūrō couldn’t tell. “I don’t know what to do to prove it.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Of all the parts of…  _us_ , I suppose I am the one who scares you. So just tell me.”

“It’s not you who scares me,” Kōki said, and… strange. He didn’t seem like he was lying. “Not any more. The part of you that scares me is that part that’s most likely to hurt itself.”

Seijūrō reached out to touch his hand and Kōki gripped at it, almost hurting him with the strength of his grip. “Hurt…?”

“Sometimes, when you’re quiet there’s something… scared in you. Something more other than either of your… personalities. The part that links the two of you.”

“Links?” Seijūrō asked, and they both held onto Kōki’s hand with all the strength they had. Kōki didn’t wince.

“The part… the  _fear_ , that you both share and is almost something individual in itself.” A shiver ran up their spine. “It’s a part of you, so I  _love_  it, but… I don’t want you to be scared. Either of you. Not anymore.”

“I think you’re plenty good at reading us, Kōki.”

Kōki blinked. “I… maybe I am.” He leant into Seijūrō’s touch as he stroked down Kōki’s arm, and the slight sparks of gold in the edges of his vision blurred and darkened until they disappeared. Kōki watched his eyes and gave a tiny smile when Seijūrō stepped closer to him, covering his mouth with a hand when he attempted to close the distance. “We’re not having our first kiss in front of all these people.”

“You don’t think it’s romantic to have it the first place we met, the anniversary of the first time I noticed you?” Seijūrō asked, kissing the fingers that were still shielding Kōki’s mouth and remembering the desire that had punched through him when Kōki had faced him earlier that day.

Kōki’s eyes sparkled. “You certainly have a high opinion of yourself. And it’s not the exact anniversary. That will be in three days.” He pulled away and held out his hand to Seijūrō, who once again took it. “Maybe I won’t say no if we plan it for in three days.”

He could only meet Seijūrō’s eyes for a second before descending into fits of embarrassment. 


	128. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idol AU
> 
> trying to get back into writing

“I honestly think it’s unfair.”

It took a couple of seconds for Seijūrō to realise that Furihata was talking to him. This was understandable even though they were alone; for once he had no tremor in his voice and even some strength behind the conviction. Seijūrō hoped at least that it was nothing to be offended about.

“The producers are surprised as well, but—”

“I’m not necessarily  _surprised_ ,” Furihata interjected. Seijūrō glowered at the interruption. “I…I’m sorry,” he continued, and his entire body quivered once.

“It’s not like it’s even going to be a real kiss,” Seijūrō stated. “You put your hand over my mouth as it is.” He crossed his arms as Furihata pulled a face. Maybe he  _should_  be offended. Did Furihata find him repulsive? He had no reason to be embarrassed; they were alone in the hotel room. “All we need to do is give the fans a little more material for their wild fantasies.”

Furihata’s face fell into his hands as he made an indistinguishable noise. Maybe he shouldn’t have said ‘wild fantasies’.

“We can build it up slowly, but this is what the producers and—more importantly—the fans want.”

Furihata eyed him. “You’re too good at finding people’s weaknesses, Akashi-san.”

Falling back onto his bed, he let out a loud and dramatic sigh.

“You have no problem being seductive on stage.” Furihata went bright red, which Seijūrō just  _didn’t_  understand. He was doing his _job_ , and very well at that. Even Seijūrō would find himself caught in by his movements and couldn’t tear his eyes away. Which, now that he thought of it, was probably what the fans had noticed and built on, blowing up their merely cordial relationship into a passionate romance.

“You know, I completely black out when I’m on stage. Everything is a blur.”

“Furihata-kun–”

“And it’s not just that.” Interrupting  _again_? Seijūrō rubbed his forehead but let him continue. “I…uh.” He stared at Akashi before sitting up. “Can I admit something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I…I’ve never actually  _kissed_  someone.”

Seijūrō paused, but he didn’t continue. “So? Neither have I.”

He just couldn’t understand the look Furihata gave him. He just seemed… _horrified_ , and Seijūrō couldn’t figure out why. They’d never clicked very well, although they got on, frustratingly, he could never figure Furihata out, and Furihata never understood how he thought. And obviously a certain portion of the fans thought they looked good together.

“But why me? Why  _us_? I just can’t see it. If anyone, it should be you and Mibuchi-san.”

Seijūrō almost shuddered at the thought of it. Reo was so lewd and shameless that he wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye if their relationship was anything more than the very platonic one they had now, and he just didn’t want to direct Hayama’s (a particular fan who had followed them religiously across Asia and had a very loud crush on Reo) jealousy in his own direction. Furihata had no particular fans of that sort of which Seijūrō knew.

Maybe he was just scared. They hadn’t known each other long and Furihata had only been in the industry for just over a year compared to Seijūrō’s contribution of almost a decade. But being nervous was fine—the butterflies just before he stepped on stage were what made him feel alive and he couldn’t understand how Furihata could feel any differently. Sitting beside Furihata, he took his hand, almost not breathing when Furihata gripped it tightly. “If it helps, I’m flattered.” It was the truth. Seijūrō wasn’t blind to Furihata’s beauty, and he knew that his fans were protective of him. That so many of them thought they made a good couple was a testament to his own image.

“I’m going to screw up.”

“Then we practice in private before we do anything in public.”

“Practice?” He blanched.

“Like this,” Seijūrō explained, lifting up their intertwined hands.

“Oh!” His eyes sparkled. “It’s easier than I thought.”

“And on stage just do what you always have.”

His brow furrowed but he nodded. “If you’re… if you’re sure.” He ducked his head down. “Please take care of me,” he muttered quietly.

Seijūrō did his best to ignore the way his heart thumped unevenly for a few beats.


	129. AkaFuri

He was doing it again, and Kōki was caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness at the cold body burrowing closer and the hands sneaking up his coat. Seijūrō’s fingers were like icicles and Kōki let out a loud yelp which had everyone in a twenty-metre radius in the whited park turn to gawp at them.

“I told you to quit that!” he continued in a whispered shout, and Seijūrō gave a wicked smile (the effect was kind of dulled by the amount of layers that gave him the silhouette almost of a snowman).

“Quit what?” he asked innocently. He… Kōki was suddenly almost persuaded that this wasn’t an act, and almost let Seijūrō steal his warmth again when he approached, before seeing that there was still the hint of amusement and karate chopping his arm.

“Ow,” Seijūrō grumbled, rubbing the spot (Kōki found himself hoping that he’d left a mark, though the amount of layers probably didn’t work in his favour).

“Stop stealing my heat. It’s mine.”

“I thought you liked sharing with me.” Kōki rolled his eyes and would probably have walked away—for the effect more than anything—but Seijūrō caught hold of his shoulders before he could. “Anyway,” he breathed, stepping closer and staring into Kōki’s eyes so deeply that he could feel it to the soles of his feet. “I’ve stolen a lot more from you regardless.”

Kōki hid that he was almost breaking his ribs trying to stop himself from laughing, before giving up as Seijūrō looked at him, chagrined. “N-not good?”

“Frankly, awful.”

“You try coming up with one.” He stepped back and glowered at the floor, very obviously sulking.

“You’re the one who keeps on _trying_. Stop getting your lines from harlequin novels, Sei.”

“I’ll make you fall into my arms at _some_ —” In all honesty, Kōki couldn’t bear to hear anymore, so he grabbed fistfuls of Seijūrō’s numerous layers and kissed him (which Kōki had an unfair disadvantage at; if Seijūrō wanted him to fall into his arms all he needed to do was kiss him once, with that _exact_ pressure, that exact way of moving his lips, and hands tugging his hair before resting them on his waist). He looked almost as disoriented as Kōki felt when they parted, and colour dawned on his cheeks before he buried his face into Kōki’s neck. “I feel warm now,” he said, but didn’t pull away. The words danced across Kōki’s skin, and Kōki gave a small hum of acknowledgement. The warmth from Seijūrō’s body was already reaching Kōki’s skin, so it didn’t matter regardless.


	130. NijiFuri

Shūzō pushed his shaggy, outgrown hair back and could finally breathe when his project was completed.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years of constant working, of setbacks and malfunctioning prototypes, fifteen years of despising himself for his own lack of knowledge, fifteen years for the ache in his chest to magnify until it became a part of who he  _was_.

Fifteen years to create the perfectly life-like robot that now sat before him, his eyes closed.

It looked like a corpse, and even though the features were so close to the original, from the hair brushing his nape to the freckles on the inside of his wrist, he almost couldn’t bring himself to touch him. It was too much like the last time he’d seen Kōki and his entire world had crashed and burned.

Not for long, not for long.  _This_  was Kōki now. He’d written the extensive programme which gave the robot the same personality, and as many memories as Kōki had told him, and with his capacity to learn he would become what Kōki would have, had he lived long enough.

He found the switch just in the hairline above his left ear and pressed it before sliding the guard into place, keeping his hand on the side of his face as the mechanisms whirred into life, slowly straightening his posture and colouring his skin a more lifelike colour as the oil ran through his body (after experimenting and experimenting he’d finally found a dye which didn’t impair function but gave Kōki the glow he’d been used to before his illness). The fans kicked into life, timing perfectly with the mechanised movement of his chest so it was like he was breathing, when Shūzō pressed his cheek to the still-cold chest the heart he’d spent weeks on was thumping against it.

When he pulled back Kōki was analysing him with dark brown eyes, and he slowly put his head to one side.

“D-do you know your name?” Shūzō whispered, his mouth dry. Kōki was silent for a moment, before nodding.

“Furihata Kōki.”

It hurt more, to begin with. He had to choke back sobs and press his face back against Kōki’s chest just in case he would start crying—he didn’t want Kōki’s first memories to be marred by that—and listened to the soft whirring of the mechanisms as he moved each part of his body. His skin was slowly becoming warmer.

“Sh-Shūzō,” Kōki said, and Shūzō looked up, not caring anymore whether Kōki could see the tears. They were  _happy_  tears anyway. Kōki frowned and blinked once, before giving a little huff that had Shūzō frozen to the spot with its familiarity. “Why am I naked?”

He seemed disgruntled when Shūzō laughed, and followed when he stood up. “Come with me. I’ve kept all your clothes; you can choose what you want.”


	131. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> par of my pokemon au

The most annoying part of everything Kōki was doing—everything he believed in and _knew_ to be right—was that he couldn’t bring himself to speak up. His short-lived bravery when he first acquired Cookie and saw the gentleness in her eyes and _knew_ she couldn’t fight was long gone, and as the others in the village ventured into the wilderness beyond and came back with more power and stronger Pokemon, he stayed within the walls and let his Eevee live as she wanted. She may not have grown bigger or stronger, but she was content and safe and comfortable.

Instead of speaking out, he hid his horror when his friends recounted the tales of countless Pokemon thwarted and used for nothing more than their fighting strength, the injuries sustained and carried on. Fukuda’s Ponyta still walked with a noticeable limp from an injury two years previously, Kuroko’s Dratini had criss-crossed scars over one side, Kagami’s Blaziken was completely blind in one eye, and every time the injured Pokemon were left with Kōki to recuperate as the owner left with their others.

He did realise that Akashi never left his, no matter how injured they were, and it shouldn’t have irritated Kōki but it _did_ , because he’d _seen_ how much love Akashi had for his Pokemon from the moment he had caught them, but he still insisted on fighting and being the strongest trainer. It was just confusing and frustrating that he was so contradictory.

That time when it changed, Kōki had turned nineteen days earlier and was coaxing the Blaziken (he took after his owner in being particularly accident-prone) into staying still long enough for Kōki to check the slash over his chest. He hadn’t been expecting it, and jumped when it all kicked off, the buzzing of what sounded like a myriad of Beedrils and the high-pitched, panicked chirrup that came from behind the trees. The Blaziken was up and completely alert within a second, and Kōki felt a chill run over his spine before he ran towards the sound.

(In retrospect, it hadn’t sounded like a myriad, but such a sound cutting into the quiet and calm of a usual Friday afternoon multiplied in the space, amplified by terrified Pidgeys and Spearows taking to the sky with a rush of wings and the eerie quiet when the buzzing stopped and Kōki rounded the corner—)

The Blaziken was close to him, and growled low in his throat as Kōki came to a nervous stop at the grass. He hadn’t ventured further for years of his own volition. Everything he ever needed was in the village behind him, from the small houses to the shop which carried the minimum for survival and the patches of soil where he could grow the berries for the medicines he made. Out here was uncharted, wild, dangerous.

The Beedril gathered strength to once again attack and the Blaziken stepped before Kōki to roar at it, readying to strike until it turned tail and ran, countless Rattata following suit out of the grass. The Blaziken looked at him expressionlessly before Kōki reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you,” he choked out before resuming his search.

The result was found fairly quickly, though the _reason_ Kōki couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t reason how the Beedril had attacked in a way that didn’t allow Akashi to retaliate, he couldn’t reason why Akashi was passed out with a lump on his forehead, he couldn’t reason why a young girl was beside him, eyes fluttering from shock or something else.

Her arm was twisted oddly, in a way that could only be attributed to a dislocated shoulder, and when Kōki touched her cheek she said nothing.

“Do you know your name?” he asked, and she didn’t respond, just looked at him with bright grey eyes. Maybe she spoke a different language? Or was just under too much stress and pain to form a coherent mindset?

“Furihata-kun?” he heard from beside him (and as always the frisson ran through him, his throat tightened, his pulse picked up as his heart faltered, but it meant _nothing_ absolutely nothing).

“Akashi-san!” he exclaimed. “Are you hurt? Do you feel nauseous? How many fingers am I holding up?” He held up two, and a small smile flashed across Akashi’s face.

“I’m fine, just…” He touched the lump and winced. “It’s visible, isn’t it?”

Kōki was still achingly curious, but he could see the Blaziken’s strength waning, and the only _possible_ explanation was that Akashi had somehow dropped, lost, or given away his Pokemon if they hadn’t been out, and even a weak fighter could take them in the state they were. “Yes,” he answered. “We have to go in.” He took a deep breath before pushing the girl’s shoulder back into place, biting the inside of his cheek when she shivered and tangibly paled. Akashi struggled to his feet, supporting himself on a nearby tree as Kōki slowly picked up the girl, wincing every time he happened to jostle her in a way that could only be hurting.

Akashi was staring at her with an unreadable expression when he’d straightened, and Kōki burned with curiosity that almost overshadowed his absolute fear of being caught with only an injured Blaziken to protect them. “Ready?” he asked. Akashi closed his eyes for a moment before nodding determinedly.

\----

He dropped off to sleep almost as soon as he stepped over the threshold of the house and located Kōki’s sofa, and Kōki placed the injured girl on the one next to him, before going back outside to check on the Blaziken.

“I’m not really sure how he’ll react if I wake him up,” he said quietly once the Blaziken had settled and curled up on the ground beside him and Cookie had resumed her normal seat on Kōki’s lap. “I’m still kind of terrified of him, you know.”

The Blaziken sighed, and Kōki shook his head, before a lightbulb switched on. “That’s it; head injury! I have to wake him up every couple of hours. You two stay out here,” he ordered, though Cookie protested when he pushed her off his lap.

His first stop was to check the girl, still burning with curiosity at _who_ she was, and how Akashi had managed to pick her up. Maybe she was an orphan, maybe they were trying to _find_ her parents?

He put a blanket over her when she shivered at his touch, before turning to see that Akashi was already awake and watching them.

“You should be sleeping,” he complained. Akashi didn’t answer other than opening the bag he’d had nestled between his body and the back of the sofa. Pokeballs. Kōki furrowed his brow. “You had your Pokemon with you? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding frustrated as he checked the condition of each Pokeball. “I’ve never seen any Pokemon act that way. Usually there’s some kind of warning before they attack, but recently…” he trailed off. “Dante’s hurt pretty badly and I was nearer to here than the healing centre. Would you mind—?”

“Of course not,” he answered, taking the ball from his hands. “You’ll have to rest for a while anyway.”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly. “I have other powerful Pokemon. I can make it without Dante if I have to.”

Kōki didn’t answer, but shook his head and glowered when Akashi stubbornly looked aside. “Dante was your first, do you really want to do it without him?”

“If I have to I will.”

It didn’t answer Kōki’s question. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Who’s the girl?”

Again, that unreadable expression. “I-I’m not sure.”

But he was staring at Kōki too intently, holding his eyes like a challenge. “You’re an awful liar,” he blurted out, and pressed a hand to his mouth when Akashi glared. “If you kidnapped a child I have a right to know when she’s in my house and hurt.”

“I’m tired,” he announced. Kōki watched in disbelief as he turned his back to him pointedly. Maybe if he woke the girl? But she was sleeping so soundly, and so still that Kōki wondered if she’d slept well at all for at least a week. “I didn’t kidnap her,” Akashi said, though when Kōki looked over his shoulder he hadn’t turned to face him again. “And she’s not what you think she is.”

“What do I think she is?” He didn’t answer, and after a few minutes Kōki doubted he ever would.

Dante, whom he released from the ball after making sure that the Blaziken was out of ear and eye shot, had a torn wing and various lacerations, and was miserable enough that he didn’t protest when Kōki cleaned him up, seeming more interested in burying his face in Kōki’s chest with a high-pitched whine that didn’t sound right coming from such a massive beast. Once he was patched up he looked morosely up at Kōki from his vantage-point sprawled on the ground, and Kōki couldn’t look away from him. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Fighting just for _fun_ isn’t right. It can’t be.” Dante gave a sigh, closing his eyes and Kōki beamed him back in the Pokeball before checking on the Blaziken.

It was just for something to _do_ , in all honesty. Otherwise he would be driving himself crazy with the hypotheticals and be a nervous wreck by the time they woke up again. Even a full check didn’t take as long as he wanted it to, and after half-an-hour of forcing himself to throw a stick for the Blaziken to run and catch—part of building up his strength after so much rest—gave in and went inside to loudly rummage around the kitchen.

Akashi looked over the back of the sofa into the kitchen disgruntledly.

“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?”

He was better at acting innocent than Akashi, who blinked and said, “It’s fine.”

“So… as you’re awake, would you tell me who the girl is? And why she’s not what I think she is?”

“Firstly, she’s not really a girl.”

He sat up, wincing and putting a hand on the bump still decorating his forehead. “O-oh?” Kōki frowned. He hadn’t _thought_ Akashi was a bigot.

“As in, she’s not human.”

“What?”

Akashi looked at her pensively, and Kōki approached with a glass of water which he proceeded to hand to him. “It’s Latias.”

It didn’t really make sense. After all, Latias was _rare_. Massively rare. She wasn’t known to go anywhere without her brother, was shy and disappeared at the first sight of danger. She was _nothing_ like the brave, fiery types that Akashi exclusively owned, from the fierce Dante to his Flareon they were always the same _personality_. Latias was nothing like it.

“Right,” he said, wondering if Akashi was cracking a joke.

“I’m not kidding,” he said wearily.

Kōki sat the other side of the sofa. “You… you have to realise that sounds crazy, right?”

Akashi just looked at him. “What would be the point in lying? You’ll see soon enough anyway.”

“But I still don’t—”

“She’s looking for her brother, I think.”

It was _completely_ ridiculous. The young girl sleeping in front of him could never be a legendary Pokemon; she couldn’t be anything other than _human_.

Though she hadn’t said anything when Kōki asked for her name, and her eyes had been such a bright silver. Maybe Akashi would prove himself to be telling the truth. “You caught Latias?” he asked with his heart in his throat. It didn’t seem right to confine such a creature in a Pokeball.

“No. She attached herself to me. Pokemon… wild Pokemon, I mean, are acting oddly…” he trailed off and studied the girl—Latias. “Like the Beedril. I’ve been ambushed a couple of other times. It was a Tentacruel that got Dante to the state he’s in now because I didn’t have time to release another. Is he well?”

Kōki passed him the Pokeball. “He’ll be fine. Why are they acting like that?”

He watched Kōki and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said in a strained voice. “As long as I’ve known it, even wild Pokemon don’t ambush with no warning, even if they don’t mean to warn you. It’s getting dangerous.”

Kōki shivered and tucked his legs up. It was true that more people were stopping in the village over the past few months looking for him to heal their Pokemon, as the only healing centre in the region was a good hundred kilometres away, and had reported strange incidences. “Hopefully it’ll… blow over.”

It seemed like a vain thing to hope for, especially with the expression on Akashi’s face that made him seem like he’d aged years in the few months Kōki hadn’t seen him.


	132. NijiAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by seijuro on tumblr

Seijūrō was already exasperated by the look in Nijimura’s eye before he even opened his mouth. The kind of exasperation that also had a barely concealable fondness for the other, a reaffirmation to Seijūrō just how much he cared for him. In the end, he still wanted to comply with what he knew Nijimura would ask for, but  _one_  of them had to maintain the illusion that there was nothing between them more than a relationship between a captain and his former captain.

“Just one kiss. Come on, no one else is here.”

Yet. The gym wasn’t exactly off-limits, and Seijūrō had made it clear that if anyone wanted to talk to either him or Nijimura they were allowed to come in during their meetings at any time, and Midorima was supposed to have been with them a good five minutes ago.

“You saw the size of Midorima’s lucky item today, Akashi. He’s not getting here any time soon.”

He couldn’t argue with  _that_. He watched from the corner of his eye as Nijimura stretched his legs out before him and shifted on the hard plastic chair, and Seijūrō evaded a hand which attempted to rest on his leg by jumping out of his own. “Couldn’t you just wait until  _after_  the meeting?” But he made the mistake of stepping in front of him.

He had the reflexes to evade, in all honesty, but as soon as Nijimura’s arms were around his waist he relaxed into his touch, all the tension from the early morning practice and Aomine’s increasing difficulty fell away. “You always wear your uniform so  _correctly_ ,” Nijimura said, and Seijūrō frowned. How many other ways  _were_  there to wear his uniform without getting a mark on his spotless record? It distracted him, enough for Nijimura to pull the fabric out of the way and place a kiss on his stomach. Heat flooded Seijūrō’s body, and just for a moment he allowed it, holding Nijimura in place by his hair. He hadn’t felt this kind of warmth since he’d happened to find those books usually on the top shelf in his latest visit to his library and hid himself in a darkened corner to pour over them. Not that it would have mattered, no one came into the library except the staff in the morning to dust. But he still felt like he was doing something wrong, and only his curiosity was stronger than his need to do right and be right, be the perfect student and heir.

Nijimura’s next kiss was against the ridge of his pelvis. His thumb ran along the waistband of his trousers before Seijūrō tugged him away by his hair and quickly sat down, almost missing the seat in his haste. Ignoring the smirk Nijimura threw in his direction he smiled politely at Midorima, who walked in the next second and placed the wooden statue at least half his size beside the door, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Ready to start the meeting?”

Midorima frowned. “You’re very red, Akashi.”


	133. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anon on tumblr

This job would be the  _perfect_  job for Kōki. It was close to family, close to a decent town for shopping, there were the mountains he loved on the horizon and the climate was so mild that he wouldn’t be sweating even in the middle of summer. He’d aced the first part of the interview, navigating several landmines that his future employer had set to trip him up such as a particularly delicate rug with a mud stain and a rowdy dog with a tendency to knock over bookcases. He’d seemed impressed, and even had said, “I think you have a very good chance, Furihata-san.”

He took a calming breath before knocking on the door, and it was swung open and the start of a polite greeting came to a grinding halt.

He’d known Akashi Seijūrō for years. As a butler, he was always a step before Kōki, just that little bit more charming and kind (supposedly) and quicker, as _well_  as being a good deal more attractive. “It’s you,” Akashi said coldly, though there was a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Kōki gaped at him. “Y-you…? What are  _you_  doing here? This is  _my_  break, not yours!”

“The family is hiring two butlers.”

“Yes!” the master of the house said. “And you’ll both be hired, if you agree. The only problem is that we only have one free room in the help’s quarters whilst the rest are being redone, so for at least the next couple of months you’ll be sleeping in the same room.”

“We’re what?” Kōki said weakly. Akashi seemed blind-sided too.

“The next couple of months?” he said, eyeing Kōki for a short moment.

This was  _his_  break. This job was perfect, except for the perfect imperfection standing beside him. The master nodded and beckoned for them both to follow to his study. “I’m taking it whether you are or not,” he said, and froze when he saw the blush on Akashi’s cheeks.

“M-me too,” he retorted, though it lacked the bite it would have usually.


	134. FuriAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 2 of furiaka week on tumblr. please contribute yourselves if you have time!

Kōki finally found Seijūrō on the balcony and slipped out into the cold air with a small shiver. It was unseasonably cold for the time of year, though Seijūrō was still standing in the midst of it wearing only a thin shirt and trousers.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, quietly edging towards an explanation, though he could have guessed. Seijūrō shot a winning smile over his shoulder and Kōki had to look away.

“Everywhere? Kagami’s apartment isn’t that big.”

Kōki stuck his tongue out and approached, pressing into his side for warmth when he put an arm around him. “I checked the whole thing and there are a lot of people in there.”

“I’m surprised he was allowed so many people.”

“Apparently he’s collected a lot of friends despite his personality. Everyone asked him to host the graduation party. Or maybe they were just using him for his apartment.” He shrugged, and noticed how Seijūrō fixed his eyes on the empty pavement below them. To attract his attention, he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his neck. When it didn’t work, he asked, “What’s up?” in the cheeriest voice he could muster. Even though he wanted to ask him seriously.

But even right after it had happened Seijūrō had evaded all questions to do with that night.

“I still don’t have a plan for the next seven years.”

“I thought you’d decided on competitive shogi?”

“And if I lose?” He looked at Kōki for the barest moment, his knuckles white on the railings before them. “I could lose any number of times in seven years.”

Kōki pressed closer, squeezing his hands until they stopped gripping at the railing. “You’re not in this alone,” he said quietly.

“More people to drag down with me?” he smiled weakly, and Kōki stubbornly fought back the surge of anger that anyone would reduce Seijūrō to someone so frightened and… almost weak.

“No. You’re not dragging me down. I’ll keep you up until you can do it yourself.”

Seijūrō revealed a small smile, and these were the moments Kōki loved, when their relationship was a true partnership. He’d spent too long having to be pulled into everything by Seijūrō and nervously standing back as he watched him carry the relationship alone. “What… happened that night?”

All he’d seen was the aftermath, when Seijūrō had showed up at his house at ten, as planned (Kōki took any opportunity to have him round when his parents were away; he was a teenager and had an attractive boyfriend who lived four hours train ride away most of the year, and had too many duties when he was a mere forty minutes’ walk away for the rest of it). Kōki had paid meticulous attention to detail for that night, which was the end of the record breaking three months since they’d started dating of not seeing each other one bit. His room was perfectly tidy and clean so Seijūrō wouldn’t raise an eyebrow and Kōki wouldn’t be tempted to smack that stupidly smug grin off his face–it wasn’t like he was any better himself when he didn’t have maids cleaning up after him. He’d spent a good half-hour in front of the mirror practicing his ‘effortlessly seductive’ smile, made sure he had enough lube and condoms stashed in the far corner under his bed (along with the other… things he didn’t want his mother to see) and for the finishing touch pulled on one of the tops Seijūrō left at his house in case they had an impromptu ‘sleepover’. The doorbell had rang when he was stretching to gain a couple of extra centimetres in flexibility and Kōki dove to the door.

He’d seen Seijūrō cry before. He had a tendency of doing so when he was particularly happy–a habit which bugged Seijūrō but Kōki found unbearably endearing. But those tears were easy to read; he still remained looking annoyingly perfect and attractive. These were different; they were the type which made his skin blotchy and red, the furthest thing to joy possible. He almost smiled when Kōki panicked, asking whether he was hurt and what had happened. In all honesty, that was the turning point of their relationship, when it finally went from Kōki staring up in awe at the man who had inexplicably chosen him, to finally feel as if they were watching each other on level ground, Seijūrō as flawed and human as anyone.

He never did say exactly what happened, only after a while of prodding did he finally divulge that it was due to his father, but refused to say any more of the matter. Kōki let it drop reluctantly, and instead did his best to make him smile and laugh again.

In the end, after the few clues he could muster from how he never saw the Akashi mansion again and the amount of times Seijūrō had to sneak out to see him mounted, he guessed it was something to do with their relationship, but with how well it was going and how happy he was and how happy Seijūrō seemed he couldn’t bring himself to suggest that maybe they shouldn’t see each other any more. Maybe that had been selfish. Seijūrō could have been lying with every word and action, only staying from a sense of duty to finish what he’d started. His heart was in his throat and he focussed on Seijūrō to distract himself from the thought.

He still hadn’t started talking.

“Was it something to do with us?”

A terse nod.

The lump in his throat thickened. So it was his fault. He was the reason Seijūrō had been so broken that night.

“You…” he trailed off and sank his teeth into his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “You don’t have to feel like you have to stay with me. If it’s easier and better for you to leave then you can. I mean, we’re only teenagers–”

“No,” Seijūrō interrupted. “Well, I suppose it would be easier to not be with you, but never better. I’d rather be happy with a difficult life than miserable with an easy life. And it’ll just be for these seven years that it’ll be hard. After that I can access the money my mother left for me and the company will be transferred to me.”

“So… you weren’t disowned?”

Seijūrō frowned. “Not entirely, no.”

Kōki shook his head and stuck his bottom lip out. It was impossible to understand. “What?” he grumbled when he noticed Seijūrō was looking at him with a fond smile.

“Nothing.”

It would probably be one of the great mysteries of their relationship, along with that time Seijūrō had 'accidentally’ slammed into him when Kōki was about to make a glorious three-pointer during one of their one-on-ones–easily the best shot of his life–and knocked him over. He insisted that his ankle had given way underneath him and he didn’t mean to land with his thigh snug between Kōki’s, the pressure making his head spin and leading to the game being unfinished in lieu of making out, whilst Kōki insisted he’d done it all on purpose. The matter was still unresolved.

But this wasn’t a small bout of over-competitiveness leading to a particularly passionate make-out session. This was something that was hurting Seijūrō. Something that had him dreading the next seven years of his life.

“Tell me,” he said, and Seijūrō eyed the bustling room behind them separated only by the glass door. “No one will dare to barge out with you here and you know it, Sei.”

He took Seijūrō’s hand and tugged on it. “You’re determined today,” Seijūrō said.

“I’ve spent too long not knowing what to do.”

“It is because of our relationship.”

“I knew it,” Kōki mumbled. He hadn’t exactly had the best first impression with Akashi Masaomi’s cold glare, both towards himself and his son. It was chilling to the point that he wondered whether he’d ever loved  _anything_  except the money he’d made. “Because I’m male, right?”

“I came out to my father when I was fourteen and it didn’t bother him as much as I’d thought it would. But he still insisted that I would marry someone of high standing.”

-

The day, almost a year ago, had been a turning point for Seijūrō to begin thinking of Kōki as the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, rather than a teenage relationship which would fizzle as soon as they had an argument. The reason was nothing in particular; it wasn’t as if Kōki was acting any differently, but the relationship had just naturally developed to the point when he could marry Kōki the next day and not worry about the future. He was finally strong, strong enough that he felt he could lift a mountain if it was for Kōki and tell his father what his intentions were.

“What’s his name?” he’d asked, and Seijūrō had been strangely touched that his father had remembered (it wasn’t as if they’d discussed it further than they had three years previously) and not tried to edge his sexuality away.

“Furihata Kōki,” he answered.

“Furihata… from the family that recently took over the media conglomerate? It’s very different from our company, but you should be able to handle it together.”

“N-no…”

“If it’s the family that own the company that sells kitchen appliances… but their oldest son’s name is Hotaru. I’d rather an elder son, Seijūrō.”

“His family own a small flower shop in the outskirts of Tokyo.”

Masaomi froze, and slowly placed the cup of tea he’d been nursing on the table before him. Seijūrō found himself wishing that they’d at least been alone before he’d broached the subject, because the two maids currently brewing more tea were eyeing each other. “You are an Akashi, and so you have a duty to have as advantageous a union as you can.”

 _You have a duty_. He’d heard that phrase more often than any other in his life. Kōki would have to tell him that he loved him a thousand more times to even come close. He  _hated_  it, hated that his life was nothing more than a puppet’s play, hated that it would forever be hanging over his head, that it coloured every relationship and every interaction and every recreational pass-time he had. “I reject that duty,” he said quietly. “Just because you married my mother for her lineage and fortune doesn’t mean I should do the same.”

“Seijūrō—”

“How I feel about Kōki will have no effect on how I run the company.  _You’re_  the one who taught me.”

“How did you meet him?”

He was stepping on landmine after landmine, and his eyes were colder than Seijūrō had ever seen them. “Through basketball.”

The expression on his father’s face became progressively colder. “I thought I told you to quit.”

The strength he had was waning. “I enjoy the sport so I decided to continue.”

“Rebelling in your teenage years…” Masaomi took a breath and folded his hands before him. Seijūrō found himself wondering if he would have become like his father, or some caricature of such, had he not met Kōki. “It’s to be expected to a point. But you have until your graduation to grow out of it. If you have not broken up with this boy at that point, I will not support you through university. For the seven years you before you can access the trust fund your mother set up for you and inherit the company you can try this… life you think you want.”

In a way, it was what Seijūrō had longed for. His life, for those seven years, was not dictated for him. He could make mistakes and not fear the coldness of his father’s wrath. But seven years with no backup plan, no way of being rescued if he fell flat on his face, no support of  _any_  kind was the most daunting thing he’d faced, and as the hours went by he descended more and more into panic at just what it was he was taking on. It would be so much easier to do as his father said and forget about Kōki, only remember him when he wanted the jagged tear in his chest to hurt him unbearably.

It was the final proof that his father didn’t care for him more than as a pawn, someone to continue his legacy. He felt for the first time in years that after his mother’s death he’d become an orphan.

The day before Masaomi had asked whether his relationship with ‘the boy’ was over, and when Seijūrō insisted that it was as strong as it ever could be told him to be out of the house by the end of the week.

-

Kōki watched him thoughtfully when he’d done, absent-mindedly playing with his hands and a frown adorning his face before snapping back to attention. “I think this could be a good thing. The… the  _way_  is…” He took a deep breath. “The way it was told to you was awful, I’m not going to dispute that, but don’t you think it’s a blessing in disguise?”

“I-in a  _way_ , maybe—”

“You have a scholarship, don’t you?”

His face reddened and he cast his eyes away. “I refused it. It was before all this happened so I thought there was no  _need_ for them to fund someone like me.”

“Is there any other way to access the money your mother left for you?”

Seijūrō stared at him for a moment, the blush still not clearing from his cheeks, and Kōki marvelled yet again at how, in the billions of people in the world he’d somehow found the person that challenged him at the same time as making him feel safe. “Y-yes,” he stammered. “There is, but…” Letting out a sigh, he smiled crookedly. “I can access it if I get married.”

The small, felt-lined box in Kōki’s jacket pocket, which had been there almost long enough that he could start to forget why it was there, burnt though to his skin. “Oh,” he said lamely.

“W-well, it’s not like I’m asking. We’re much too young to get married.”

Kōki bit his lip. “I… yeah. You’re right.” He tried to forget what he’d almost planned to do. Well, he’d bought the ring on a whim when he’d had enough money and had carried it around for the past few months just in case a perfect moment presented itself, but they were only eighteen and had been together for less than two years. It would be madness to make such a massive commitment. “You’re right,” he repeated, and Seijūrō stared at him.

“I… maybe?”

It was madness, complete and utter madness, but… he was considering it. So many people had gotten married on a whim and been happy, he was sure. “I may have done something a bit… forward.”

“What?”

“Bought something.” He dug into the pocket and placed the box on the railing, and Seijūrō looked at it with a blank face. “It’s probably… too quick. Sorry, I…” he quieted, hoping that he wouldn’t get too carried away and tear up, but this really  _wasn’t_  supposed to be how Seijūrō would react. He was supposed to passionately say that he would, that he loved Kōki, but right now he was looking at the box as if he was too afraid to open it.

Kōki caught it up again to hide it. “Just forget that. It was too soon.”

“I didn’t want to marry you for the mere purpose of having my inheritance but… you didn’t know that, and you considered it.”

“I was thinking about an  _engagement_ , not necessarily marriage just yet.”

Seijūrō stepped closer, taking hold of Kōki’s waist. “Can I see it?”

“No,” Kōki muttered, crossing his arms to have some sort of barrier between them and glaring at the smirk.

“You bought it thinking of me. I have a right.”

He couldn’t refuse him; it was irritating to say the least, so he yanked the box back out and opened it. It wasn’t as if it was particularly expensive or flashy, made of brushed tungsten, but he’d hoped the thought would count.

He was almost ready to throw Seijūrō off the balcony when he held his hand out expectantly but didn’t take the ring, instead looking at him with a teasing smile. He was going to have to do it. “Fine,” he muttered, making sure to jam the ring onto his finger with more force than strictly necessary, and eyeing him.

“Perfect fit,” he said, looking at Kōki with an expression that was painfully sweet.

“And… I know that if you wanted to live with me then that’d be fine. My mum loves you like her own and we have a spare room if she’s not happy with us sleeping together, and you can do the same as me in taking a couple of years out to have a job and save money for university and it could be good, I think we’ll—”

Seijūrō cut him off with a kiss, which, considering how much he was rambling, was probably a good thing. “I would love that,” he said. “And I’m not taking the ring off.”

“But… I didn’t propose.”

“Didn’t you? I took you putting the ring on my finger as proposing.”

Kōki darted a look at the still-bustling room. “But there’s a lot of people.”

“I’m not saying we’ll get  _married_  this evening. But from now on I want to think of you as my fiancé.”

He had a way of being able to talk Kōki into anything with the smallest persuasion. “Me too,” he said under his breath.

“What was that?” Seijūrō asked cheerfully.

“Shut it; you heard.”

“Kōki?”

“What?”

“Can you ask me?” He took the ring off and passed it back. “Properly.”

“I’m not getting down on one knee if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The ring was already warm, and Seijūrō’s hand looked too bare in comparison to before. It surprised Kōki how much he wanted Seijūrō to wear the ring, like a proof that their lives were irrevocably tangled together. “Your first paycheck is buying me a ring,” he insisted (only half seriously). “But…” Seijūrō was watching him intently, his eyes softening when Kōki took his hand. “I think that in life there are lots of people who  _could_  be the one, any number of compatible aspects they may have. But there’s only one person who really is compatible to _every_  part of you. And… I think we’ve found it. I  _know_  that we’re way too young, which is why we shouldn’t rush to get  _married_ , but our bond is stronger than that of people who are just ‘dating’. I’ve grown so much more being with you than being apart, and I don’t think it’s just flattering myself to say that you’ve grown too. So, with that in mind… would you, at some point in the future, consider marrying me?”

“I don’t have to consider it, Kōki. You know what my answer is.”

“You forced me to ask it.”

“Yes, Kōki.”

Kōki’s vision blurred, and he ducked his head to hide the fact that he was seconds away from sobbing heartily and to—this time gently—slide the ring onto his finger.


	135. FuriAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of sheen (secrettemplars) and my idol au. written for furiaka week day 4 - fame
> 
> more of our idol au (and insp things) on mayuzumichiihiro.tumblr.com/tagged/idol+au

The practices hadn’t gone exactly as Kōki had hoped they would.

Akashi was more difficult to work with one-on-one than Kōki expected, refusing to settle for anything less than perfect, was tireless in his dancing whilst somehow managing to keep enough breath for his powerful vocals, and didn’t seem to care (or notice) that Kōki was painfully attracted to him.

The first week had been the hardest, what with Kōki questioning what he’d thought was a fairly solid sexuality as well as trying to catch up with Akashi in learning the routine. The second week Kōki had despaired; apparently he  _was_  bisexual, if the dreams he’d had of Akashi had anything to say about it. The third, he finally learnt the dance and instead they set to polishing the movements. If Akashi found his nervousness and incessant blushing odd, he didn’t say anything. The fourth week they showed it to Himuro and Mibuchi, and Himuro gave them a cool nod of approval whilst Mibuchi stared at them with eyes that were practically sparkling.

“The fans will  _love_  it,” he said. “We should really get a fancam in for some of your rehearsals, don’t you think, Tatsu-chan? I know Ryou-chan would agree with me.”

Kōki tried to speak—having the fans  _watch_ , when he’d most likely be making mistakes from nerves—did not appeal in the slightest. He would probably be booed out of the group. Dancing with _Akashi_  was bad enough, whose previous group had been one of the most popular of their times despite their youth. He had a loyal fanbase who’d followed him from the  _Kiseki_  to their own small, amateur in comparison group. Meanwhile Kōki stumbled over his lines more often than he should, had almost a  _habit_  of tripping up on stage and the first time he went out had a panic attack and fainted promptly after the show was done.

“It would certainly boost—”

“I’ll get one in for tomorrow’s rehearsal!” he interrupted loudly, and Himuro blinked at him. “I’ll ask Kuroko-san whether he can post it the same day or think up of some questions to ask the two of you or something.”

Akashi was staring at Kōki, who was trying to get a word in edgeways before Mibuchi flitted off to their choreographer, and smoothly stepped forward. “That won’t be a good idea, Mibuchi-san. This performance is supposed to be a surprise for the concert in Kyoto next month. It’s best to let the fans see it when it is perfected.”

Mibuchi shrugged. “If you like, Sei-chan.” He left the studio, Himuro following.

“Thank you,” Kōki mumbled.

“You can speak up, you know. This is your group as much as any of ours.” Akashi sighed when he shrugged and stepped behind him again to take hold of his waist. “Once more, and then we’ll stop for the day?”

Kōki stared at him from the mirror before them as he took the remote out of his pocket to start the backing track again. Maybe… it was a little more than a crush that he harboured for Akashi. Maybe it was a little more than respect for someone much more experienced in the world he’d chosen than himself. Perhaps the affection he held for Akashi had seeped through him, colouring his mind and creating an irreversible change. Maybe some part of it was love.

The backing track continued playing as he turned to look at him directly. “Thank you, Akashi-san,” he said, and Akashi frowned at him.

“What for?”

“I…I’m not unaware that the reason we’re so popular is largely because of you. I’ve learnt a lot more…  _seen_  a lot more than I would have if I was still attempting this alone.” Akashi’s hands were still on his waist.

“You would have… that is, success—” He broke off and stepped back. “You’re talented, Furihata-kun. And you work hard, which is more important anyway. There’s a reason the fans took a liking to you so quickly.”

Kōki silently turned back to the front, keeping quiet as Akashi fumbled with the remote to switch it back to the beginning of the track.

It didn’t escape his notice that Akashi seemed a bit more wobbly on his feet and hesitated a beat longer than he should have before putting his hand over Kōki’s mouth and kissing it.

-

The first few performances of their new duet went without a hitch and to the excitement of those fans who had struck a liking to their relationship. Kōki wasn’t insensitive to the  _real_  reason for it—that being that they were both tightly wound whenever they were together, and he caught Akashi staring at him more than what would constitute a  _normal_  friendship. The way Akashi would hold onto him during the dancing seemed too real, Kōki leaning into his touch and getting lost in his eyes whenever they happened to meet wasn’t meaningless acting in the slightest any more. Any discussion during practices was kept to a bare minimum, though Kōki almost asked Akashi if he knew what was happening countless times.

It reached boiling point almost six months after their first performance of the song, the last time they would be performing it on that tour. Kōki had expected to feel relief that it was almost over, but was in fact quietly seething with annoyance at how Akashi was still not being upfront about their ‘ _situation_ ’. Kōki himself had gone past the point of mere attraction; he wanted to see how they would  _be_  together. Even if it ended up as a mistake that he would regret for years to come.

He knew Akashi could tell something was up. He eyed Kōki with trepidation when they were preparing before the concert and stood a little further away when they started.

It was the clearest mind frame Kōki had ever been in during a concert. Crystal clear; he was sure he could pick out the faces of those sitting at the very back without trouble. He could see Mibuchi giving him small, proud smiles, Kise curiously watching and Himuro giving him appreciative glances, though Akashi cast his eyes away as soon as they happened to meet.

They were still performing together, though, and Kōki made sure to stay closer to Akashi throughout their duet. Akashi was a bit more breathless than usual as he sang, his hands shook unless he was holding on to Kōki, and finally the end of the performance loomed before them.

He probably should have done this during the practice rather than springing it on him in front of a sizeable crowd, but he stubbornly persevered, rolling his hips back just a fraction more than usual (enough that he felt Akashi freeze behind him) and spun to face him as the music softened to just the piano. Akashi didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do next, before raising one hand almost like a robot.

His breath audibly caught when Kōki halted it with his own for a second, just enough so Akashi knew his intentions, before letting it go again. Akashi’s eyes flickered between the crowd meters away from them, filling the concert hall almost to breaking point, and back to where Kōki was silently imploring him.

He almost cracked under the pressure when Akashi’s hand resumed its course—still  _nothing_ , he was still refusing how he felt—but instead Akashi touched the line of his jaw, trailing pins and needles to his neck before leaning in to actually kiss him.

Everything blurred, except the electrifying sensation of Akashi kissing him, though from the din outside of their own bubble he was sure the hall had erupted.

It was true that they lingered a little longer than before (and that Mibuchi had to tug on his arm so he reluctantly separated from Akashi) but everything, from the warmth Akashi had transferred to him, to the way he bashfully ducked his head down afterwards, taking hold of his hand, was worth it.

“There’s going to be a blow-up tomorrow,” Kise said, following them off backstage when Akashi lead him away. Akashi halted at his own dressing room, staring at Kise (who had stopped with them) until he rolled his eyes and left. Kōki covered his face when Akashi pulled him in.

“I can’t believe I just had my first kiss on a stage in front of all those people,” he whined.

“Y-yes… that was unexpected.”

Kōki stared at him. “Not… a bad surprise? I hope?”

“No,” Akashi insisted. “Probably wasn’t the best idea, but…” he trailed off and tried to hide his smile. “I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

Kōki leant in, stilling a few centimetres away and letting Akashi close the gap with a passion he found impossible to doubt.


	136. MayuNijiAka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by two anonymous on tumblr

It wasn’t that Seijūrō was scared—such emotions never had a hold on him since the day ten years ago when he fled onto the ship when it was docked on his home planet—but this particular creature was staring at him as if he would be the most delectable of feasts. He’d managed to slip out of some difficult situations before but, wounded and stranded on an abandoned ship a thousand miles away from the closest planet, he didn’t see any way he could save himself.

Having closed his eyes, he hadn’t seen exactly what happened, but was splattered with liquid which he identified as the monster’s blood, and it fell forward meters before him, revealing two men, one human with dark hair and eyes, and the other some cross between a human and one of the monochrome inhabitants of S657, a large planet in the outskirts of Andromeda. Everything about him, from his appearance to his aura, was grey.

“Well, Chihiro,” the dark one said with a wide smile. “What should we demand in payment for saving his life?”

 

\-------------

 

Seijūrō was frozen to the spot when he met the man’s eyes.

This couldn’t be happening, he _couldn’t_ be seeing quick flashes of their life together, shouldn’t have that sensation of falling in his abdomen, his heart shouldn’t have picked up, his throat constricting until he could hardly breathe— _Shūzō_ was his soulmate, Shūzō with his piercing eyes and body that fitted perfectly against him and his achingly gentle touches. It wasn’t this man, it wasn’t, it _couldn’t_ —

—he repeated the words as the man looked at him with wide, grey eyes, the weight of which followed him as he turned on his heel and bolted.


	137. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by wincytards on tumblr

Kōki watched in abject horror as the pristine show pony jumped the course perfectly, tucking her legs carefully into her body, arching in a perfect bascule and not placing one hoof wrong. The rider on her back was just as perfect; lower leg never deviating more than a centimeter and remaining perfectly balanced no matter how large the jump.

And this boy was _twelve_ ; a whole two years younger than him. Kōki didn’t want to be ungrateful for his own horse—a stocky, stubborn type that would probably live as long as he would, but was a bit green in his approach to fillers and point-blank refused to work in any sort of outline—but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy when the red-head rode past him as he entered the ring.

Then again, these Rakuzan riders were all the same.


	138. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by castella-rays on tumblr who intended for it to be fluff or gen but i made the executive decision to make it (fluffy) smut

“We have a concert coming up in less than a week, Furihata-kun, and Akashi-kun needs all the time to practice that he can,” Kuroko said suddenly once he’d stopped Kōki in the hall a Tuesday afternoon.  

Kōki attempted to not think about what had happened the evening before in the practice room after Kuroko had left—the accidental touching of hands when they were sitting at the same piano, leading to an _entirely_ innocent kiss which may have led to some less-innocent touching—his own oboe abandoned on its stand somewhere by the door. “I…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We live together, Furihata-kun; I was worried so I checked the practice room,” he said, shuddering, and Kōki’s heart dropped; he wouldn’t inform the _school_ , would he? “Just to inform you, that was improper use of a piano,” or at least that was what Kōki _thought_ he’d said, though he was too distracted from catching sight of Akashi at the other end of the hall.


	139. AkaFuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by wincytards on tumblr

“I heard that humans were a frank and cruel race,” Akashi said when he first met the trembling boy that stood before him. He’d heard the stories for a long time, of the claws that grew from their hands and feet and their extraordinary barbarity to other members of their planet.

The boy’s eyes widened, and Akashi was struck by their colour. He’d never seen it before, and could only think ‘ _warm_ ’ when he looked at it. “S-some are, I guess?” he said. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Not to mention there were no claws growing out of his hands, which he checked thoroughly by bringing them both close to his face. Not even any holes from which claws could extend. In fact, they looked remarkably like his own. Excepting the colouring of his skin, hair and eyes they could have been from the same race. “I am merely intrigued,” he assured him. “I heard that humans drink the blood and eat the flesh of their deities.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Met-a-phor,” he sounded out, and despite himself the corners of the boy’s lips quirked upwards.

“Not literally true.”

Akashi sighed, and the boy’s cheeks tinged pink when he looked down to where Akashi was still clasping his hands, the light blue against that colour which Akashi could not name. “It appears I do not know nearly as much as I should if I am to pass as a human as I study your world.” He put his head to one side as he studied the boy’s face. “Your name is Furihata Kōki?”

“Yes.”

“Will you teach me the ways of your world?”


End file.
